


Nothing Like We Used to Be

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Fix-It of Sorts, Funeral, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, M/M, Slow Burn Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: Married, Mike and Rachel head to Seattle, leaving Harvey behind. A year later, tragedy strikes, bringing Mike and Harvey back together. Will they manage to get it right this time?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be my attempt at a S7 fix-it fic, but I ended up breaking more things. Not everyone makes it out alive, thus the MCD warning. Neither Mike or Harvey die, however.
> 
> The rating is Mature for now. If things heat up later on, I'll change that.
> 
> I've written ahead a little, but not much. Updates will be sporadic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by pimentogirl.

__

 

_"I present to you, for the first time, Mr. And Mrs. Ross-Zane._

So, that was that. Game over. Mike and Rachel were married.

Harvey had known this day was coming – had felt it barreling down on him like a driverless semi-truck. The only thing in doubt had been when it would make impact.

When it would annihilate him.

Part of him had retained faint hope that the day would never come, but it had, and it turned out that watching your unrequited love marry another was inevitable as death and taxes, and hurt far worse than either.

He'd been bracing himself for the blow for almost as long as he'd known Mike, so in a sense he was ready for it. It was the second half of the one-two punch that nearly drove him to his knees.

Mike was leaving. He and Rachel were moving all the way across the country to Seattle.

Numb and cold, Harvey joined the rest of the guests in toasting the happy couple, but there wasn't enough champagne in the world to dull the pain he was feeling.

Before the reception rolled into its second giddy hour, Harvey snuck out the side door and made his way home, opting to walk the entire fifteen blocks. The weather had warmed over the past week, so he undid his tie, slipped it into his pocket, and carried his suit coat underneath one arm. A steady procession of headlights rushed toward him, brightly blank, before receding into the distance behind him.

He didn't want to think about Mike, and how he and Rachel would be spending their wedding night. Instead, he dwelt on the mistakes he'd made with Paula, and the awkwardness that remained between himself and Donna. Did she want something from him, or didn't she? Maybe he should just give it to her. The alternative? He would end up alone, bouncing from one dead-end relationship to the next.

Neither choice appealed to him.

As he trudged through the nighttime city, a phrase kept going through his mind, one of those glib, saccharine pieces of advice or consolation which belonged on a motivational poster, or perhaps, more accurately, on a sympathy card for the bereaved.

_Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened._

What a crock of shit. If it had never happened, he wouldn't feel like crying now, or as if he would never smile again.

He briefly flirted with the idea of throwing himself into traffic, straight into the path of those blank, uncaring headlights, but kept walking, telling himself that he only needed to make it home, and then he could continue putting one foot in front of the other until he had walked far enough to put this dreadful evening behind him.

 

**One Year Later**

It took less than six months for Forsyth & Associates – and for the Ross-Zanes – to make a big media splash. The new firm caught a class action case pitting Laydon, Inc., a billion-dollar-a-year gun manufacturer, against survivors of one of the by now ubiquitous mass school shootings. Even Harvey had cringed when he heard who had taken the case.

Rachel appeared a few times on CNN, setting forth their arguments. She was lovely, and articulate, and made for compelling television, but no one gave her side a chance of winning.

Predictably, the case attracted the full, unrelentingly toxic attentions of the NRA, and the second amendment fanatics. Dirt was dug up on Mike – his time in prison, mainly, and his reasons for being there. The only dirt on Rachel was her marriage to Mike, which partially explained why they'd put her in front of the cameras, and not him.

The publicity ebbed, and then flowed stronger than ever when the trial began. Mike was the primary, and conducted most of the questioning. Harvey thirstily soaked up all of the sound bites on the evening news. He considered trying to contact the court sketch artist for a copy of one particularly good likeness of Mike which he would have loved to frame and hang on his wall.

He got command of his emotions before making an ass of himself.

The trial stretched on for weeks. Pundits debated the case nightly. FOX News demonized the defendants, and Mike, and Rachel, and the firm's founder, Andy Forsyth, somehow managing to imply that they represented everything wrong about America. Harvey hated the venom, but hated even more that Mike would lose so spectacularly on his first big case in the national arena.

Then the verdict came down – guilty on all counts – and it detonated in the legal community and on cable news with the force of a hydrogen bomb. They'd won, and the settlement amounts were astronomical.

Harvey had Mike's phone number and email address. They'd remained in contact, although they spoke less and less as the months passed. That night, after the verdict was announced, Harvey called him. When Mike picked up, he sounded both elated and harassed.

"Harvey, did you hear? Of course you heard. Everyone in the damn country heard. Everyone on the planet."

"Congratulations, Mike. I'm happy for you. I saw you on the news. You look good." He looked too thin, too pale, exhausted nearly past endurance.

"Which channel?"

_All of them._ "Uh, CBS, I think."

"Yeah, Rachel usually handles that stuff, but I couldn't get out of it this time." He gave a strained laugh. "We may have to switch roles next time. She's not crazy about being the Face, as she puts it." Another laugh, this one slightly manic. "God, you wouldn't believe the hate mail we've been getting. It's insane."

Alarm bloomed in Harvey's chest. "Hate mail? Like what?"

"Use your imagination. You know as well as I do that guns are a white-hot topic these days."

"Mike. What kind of hate mail?"

"Oh, insults. Apparently, I'm a cuck, and Rachel is … well, never mind. Just ugly, ugly stuff."

"What about these threats?"

"Death. Violence. Murder and mayhem. Pretty standard, I'm told. The FBI doesn't think they're credible."

"The FBI?"

"Rachel contacted them." Mike sounded sheepish and annoyed. “I tried to tell her we need to toughen up, develop thicker skins.”

“You should hire a bodyguard.” He should hire a platoon of bodyguards.

Mike sighed, no longer trying to hide his exhaustion. “It’ll blow over. We’re already working on another case. This new one makes Flint look like nothing.”

“You know Laydon’s going to appeal, right?”

“I’d be shocked if they didn’t. Hey, maybe I’ll get to argue the case in front of the Supreme Court. Can you imagine?”

Harvey let out a slow breath, reminding himself that he hadn’t called Mike to quarrel with him. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

“Thanks, I … without you, none of this would have happened.”

Harvey couldn’t know it in that moment, but those words would come back to haunt him.

 

**Two Months Later**

At nearly nine o'clock on a Saturday morning, Harvey was still asleep when his phone rang. He fumbled for it on the nightstand and put it on speaker. “Yeah?”

Donna’s voice, low and clearly agitated, answered him. “Turn on the television. Now.”

He recognized that tone, and so didn’t waste time arguing. He got up, pulled on a robe, and stumbled into the living room, where he clicked on the television. “Which channel?”

“Take your pick.”

CNN carried live pictures of a street and sidewalk cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. The scrolling chyron announced in bold red letters: _Shooting in Seattle. Anti-gun Lawyer Spouses Ambushed._

The room seemed to lurch sickeningly, and Harvey’s stomach cramped.

_“Details are sketchy thus far,”_ intoned the anchor, _“but here’s what we know. What the police believe was a lone gunman opened fire on the Ross-Zanes as they left their condo in the Belltown neighborhood of Seattle. Both have been rushed to Harborview Medical Center. We’re awaiting word on their condition and will keep you updated as we learn more. Their attacker was taken into custody, and while no motive has been confirmed, the two attorneys have received a great deal of national attention recently for taking on a gun manufacturer and winning."_

“Donna,” he said into the phone, as buzzing filled his head and his chest constricted into a cold, dense mass, “I know you’re not my assistant anymore, but – ”

“I’ve got you on a flight to Seattle that leaves in an hour and a half. Ray should be at your place in ten.”

“Okay,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Thank you. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“I know. Give them my love.”

_If they were still alive._ He gave his head a rough shake. _No. Don’t even think about that_.

There was no time for a shower, or even a shave. He didn’t care. He threw on jeans and a t-shirt, packed in record time, and made it downstairs just as Ray was pulling up to the curb.

 

******

 

 

It was late afternoon in Seattle when Harvey's cab pulled up to the front of Harborview. The hospital loomed above him with brooding, Gothic menace, only slightly softened by the art deco detailing on the façade. Light rain fell as he paid the driver and walked through the hospital's front doors, past a mob of television reporters and their camera crews. Inside the building, the odors of institutional despair enveloped him.

He expected to spend an unknown amount of time untangling bureaucratic roadblocks between himself and Mike, but when he explained himself at the reception desk and showed his identification, it was revealed that Mike still had him listed as one of his emergency contacts (along with Rachel, of course). This filled him with a disorienting combination of relief and grief for what they'd once had. Was Mike holding onto the past, he wondered? Or had he simply forgotten to make that change?

No, when Harvey thought about it, he imagined Mike filling out new insurance paperwork, hesitating over the blank space, and scribbling Harvey's name there. Besides his wife, who else was there? That would have been more than a year ago. Harvey had to believe Mike’s new life included a new series of connections and friendships. The likely answer was that he’d used Harvey’s name as a placeholder and then forgotten about it.

Whatever. It didn't matter. What did matter was keeping his focus on navigating the maze of a building, riding the elevator up five floors, trudging down seemingly endless hallways of dingy linoleum that squeaked underneath his sneakers.

He located Mike's private room, but found his entry blocked by an unsmiling security guard.

Once again, his name and ID worked like a charm, and the guard let him into the room. Downstairs, they wouldn't tell him anything about Rachel, but he'd learned that Mike had sustained serious, but not critical damage in the shooting, which is why he'd been moved to the step-down care unit. Still, he hesitated before pushing through the door, afraid of what he'd find.

Mike lay sprawled on his back with his eyes closed, an IV line attached to the back of his hand, and monitoring devices taped to numerous locations. He wore a hospital gown which was frayed at the neckline. One shoulder was heavily bandaged, and dark bruises covered half of his face. Beneath the bruises, lines of weariness and stress were visible. In person, he was even thinner and paler than he'd appeared on television. Stubble covered his cheeks and chin. His short hair was lank with sweat.

He was beautiful.

Moving quietly, Harvey eased down into a chair next to the bed and parked his suitcase near the wall. Despite his care, he must have made some noise that alerted Mike. His eyes popped open, filled for a split second with pure panic. A moment later, panic was replaced with recognition, and then surprise.

"Harvey?" He glanced down at his IV. "Either these drugs are stronger than they're telling me, or you're actually here."

"I'm actually here."

"Why?"

And how was he supposed to answer that? He gave Mike a tight smile and deflected. "How are you feeling?"

Mike's brow furrowed, as if he was still trying to puzzle out Harvey's presence in his hospital room. "How am I feeling? I've been better." His frown deepened, became tinged with panic again. "Do you have any news about Rachel? Have you seen her? How is she? They took her to surgery. God, there was so much blood …" He struggled to sit up.

"Mike, lay back. I don't know anything. They couldn't tell me her condition. Relax, and I'll go see if I can find a doctor."

"No, don't go. Just hang on a second …" Mike fumbled for his call button and pressed it.

Eyes on one another, they waited for someone to arrive. Harvey wondered if he looked as bleak and lost as Mike did.

On second thought, that was probably an impossibility.

 

******

 

The surgeon must have come straight from the operating room. Grim-faced, as if carrying a terrible burden, she wore a white coat over her scrubs, but flecks of blood remained visible at the neckline and on one pant leg. Harvey concentrated on the rusty, drying blotches, because he couldn't bear to watch Mike's face as he received the news.

"We lost her twice on the table," the doctor was saying, three minutes into her recap, "and were unable to revive her the second time. The blood loss and internal trauma were simply too great." She paused, allowing Mike a few seconds to absorb the news. "We did everything we could, but ultimately our efforts were unsuccessful. I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

The doctor waited for Mike to say something. When he didn't, she gave his arm a brief, sympathetic touch. "The staff will get you anything you need. I'll check back later to see how you're doing."

Instead of leaving, she bit her lip, for the first time looking hesitant. "I just want you to know that what your wife and you were doing … you gave hope to a lot of people. I'm sorry this happened to you."

Mike nodded, appearing numb. He wouldn't meet her gaze, or Harvey's, but stared down at his hands, which he gripped together at his waist, fingers interlaced and twisting, twisting.

With a swift glance at Harvey – a glance full of questions, and sympathy, and caution – the doctor left.

"Mike – "

"Shit!" Mike's eyes had gone wide. "Her parents. Last I heard, they were on their way here. Someone needs to tell them."

"The doctor will handle that. Or, would you like me …?"

Tracking down the doctor again proved unnecessary. In the next instant, the door flew open and Robert Zane pushed through, throwing off the hands of the startled guard, and ignoring Harvey as he zeroed in on Mike.

"You son of a bitch," he growled, eyes wild with fury. "You dragged my baby girl all the way across the country, away from her family, and you got her killed. Are you happy now?"

"Robert!" Harvey stood and put a hand on Robert's shoulder, only to have him shake violently free of him.

"How are you still alive, when my girl is dead? You should have protected her. What kind of a man are you?"

He might have said more, but the security guard positioned himself in front of Robert, one hand placed on his chest to restrain him.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'm going," said Robert through stiff lips. "My wife needs me." He pointed a shaking finger at Mike. "If I ever see you again, I swear, I'll …"

Harvey stepped close enough to him to whisper urgently in his ear. "Robert, enough. He just lost his wife."

Maybe he'd gotten through to him, or maybe his anger had burned away whatever reserves of energy he possessed. Whatever the case, Robert appeared to deflate. With one last, tortured look at Mike, he shoved past Harvey and the guard, and left the room.

 

******

 

Harvey stayed through dinner, which Miike barely touched, and through visiting hours, which ended at eight. They didn't speak much. Mike, Harvey could see, was utterly gutted. He appeared more lost and hopeless than Harvey had ever seen him, even during the worst days of his time in prison.

Harvey would have stayed longer, even all night, but one of the nurses finally kicked him out. By then, Mike had given in to drugs and exhaustion and had nodded off.

Outside on the sidewalk, Harvey checked his phone, and found a text from Donna detailing the hotel room she'd arranged for him. He looked around for a cab, but unlike Manhattan, there was no army of taxis circling for potential customers. Pulling up Google on his phone, he found a cab company, called them, and settled in to wait.

The news crews had thinned out, but a few stalwarts still maintained their vulture-like watch.

For the first time since he'd learned of the shooting, Harvey's thoughts left Mike and turned to Rachel. He pictured her as he remembered her, young and achingly beautiful, wearing her wedding dress, practically levitating with happiness. Now, when it was too late to change anything, he regretted his stubborn jealousy toward her, and the coldness he'd often shown her, even though she'd been a demonstrably excellent paralegal and attorney, and an even better person. He should have been kinder to her.

Behind him, the automatic doors swished open. Instinctively, he glanced in that direction. Robert and Laura Zane emerged into the Seattle drizzle, holding each other close. Harvey couldn't tell who was propping who up. The mini-mob of reporters converged on them. Instead of brushing past, as Harvey had guessed he would do, Robert stepped up to the microphones, still holding Laura close to his side. Harvey edged his way behind the reporters, curious as to what Robert would say.

"The doctors," he began, and then had to stop and regain control of himself. "The doctors gave you the details about our daughter, I believe. The only thing I want to add is this. She was taken from us by an individual who I know next to nothing about. I don't want any details about his life, or who his friends were, or what a fine student he was in high school, or how much he loved his parents and his pets. I don't care about any of that. The only thing that is relevant to me is that he picked up a killing machine and tore my baby girl to pieces. I hope he rots in hell."

Next to him, Laura had begun weeping softly.

"What about your son-in-law?" asked a mercenary-looking blonde. "Can you update us on his condition?"

Robert struggled once more for composure. "Mike Ross, I regret to say, is going to be fine."

The press corps erupted with shouted follow-up questions, but Robert was done. He and Laura waded past the cameras and microphones thrust at them, and got inside the back of a cab which had just pulled up, and which Harvey suspected was his.

He didn't begrudge Robert the cab. However, if the man hadn't just lost his daughter, Harvey might have been tempted to slam him up against the nearest wall.

 

******

 

Harvey kept vigil at Mike's bedside for the next three days. Mostly, they were alone, with the television droning quietly in one corner up near the ceiling. Mike slept, which Harvey hoped was a good sign. When he wasn't asleep, he brooded, directing his thousand-yard stare towards the far wall.

Andy Forsyth, owner and CFO of Forsyth & Associates, visited Mike on the second day, looking somber and rattled. At Mike's request, Harvey stepped out for food and coffee so they could talk about Mike's pending cases. When Harvey returned an hour later, Mike's mood wasn't much improved, but at least he'd lost the blank expression which had begun to concern Harvey.

On the fourth day they learned, via Donna (who'd seen it on CNN), that Rachel's body had been released to her parents, who had flown her back to New York to bury her.

This news roused Mike from his lethargy. He insisted, loudly, and with rising panic clear in his voice, that the doctors needed to check him out immediately.

While Mike harangued the staff, Harvey stepped into the hall and phoned Robert Zane.

"Harvey. What do you want?"

He knew he needed to tread carefully. "What you said to Mike in the hospital …"

"I meant every word."

"Are you seriously going to try to keep him away from Rachel's funeral? That's inhumane."

"Come back and tell me about inhumane when you have a dead child to bury."

"You're right. I can't begin to understand what you must be feeling. Do you know who can understand? Mike."

"Bullshit. He killed her."

"No. You said it yourself. It was that sick son of a bitch currently locked up without bail who killed her. Mike loved Rachel. He worshipped her. I've been with him for the last three days, and I can tell you that if there is a hell on Earth, he's living it right now."

"Living. The operative word."

Harvey struggled to hold onto his temper. "Just consider this: would Rachel want you to keep Mike away?"

It seemed he'd finally gotten through to Robert, if his silence on the other end of the line was any indication. After a time, he heard a grumbling sort of sigh.

"Fine. He can come. You'd better warn him to stay as far away from me as possible."

"Fair enough," said Harvey, although it wasn't fair at all. "When …?"

"Four days from now. I'll give Donna the details. I'm sure she'll want to be there too."

They finished their conversation and hung up.

Yes, Donna would come, and Louis, and probably Jessica, too. He hadn't spoken to anyone but Donna yet, but he knew he could count on her to do what needed to be done back in New York.

He returned to Mike's room to find him still arguing with the nurse, a doctor who had arrived to provide backup, and the guard who had been assigned to his door today.

"Mike." Harvey's sharp tone cut through all the raised voices. "It's okay. The service isn't until Monday. You don't need to leave right this second. I can book us on a flight out on Sunday."

The doctor gave him a grateful smile. The look she turned on Mike was noticeably cooler. "I hope you'll give us a few more days to make sure you're strong enough to travel."

Mike nodded, face tight.

The room emptied, leaving Harvey and Mike alone.

"You called Robert."

Mike didn't seem angry, exactly. Harvey couldn't tell what he was. "Yes," he replied, voice neutral.

"How is he?"

"Hurting. Angry. If you want to attend the service – "

"Of course I do. How could you even suggest otherwise?"

"I wasn't suggesting that." He'd only been about to mention that Mike should keep his distance from Robert, but let it drop for now. "I'll take care of everything."

"So, what you're saying is that Donna will."

A reluctant smile creased one side of Harvey's face. "Pretty much. All you have to do for the next few days is concentrate on healing.”

Mike’s bleak, shell-shocked gaze fixed on Harvey. “Sure. Heal. Grieve. Bury my wife. And then what?”

All the answers that flashed through Harvey’s head felt inadequate for the depth of Mike’s suffering. Mike didn’t seem to expect an answer. He closed his eyes and eventually slept, or at least pretended to.

 

******

 

Harvey should have remembered that here, less than half a block from Mike and Rachel’s condo, was where the shooting had occurred. The crime scene tape was gone, and someone must have taken the trouble to try to clean the blood away, but large, discolored patches still marred the sidewalk. Grimacing, he gave the worst of it a wide berth, and headed toward the front door of the building.

The Ross-Zane condo was on the sixteenth floor of a newer high-rise. He rode the elevator up, used the keys Mike had given him to let himself in, and then took a moment to look around. The place was small but not crowded. The furnishings reminded him of the apartment they'd shared back home, spare, elegant, flawlessly stylish, while at the same time managing to give off rustic, cottage-like vibes.

It felt abandoned, as if no one had been inside for weeks, but when he looked for signs of Mike and Rachel, he found them in the sparse collection of rinsed dishes in the sink ready to be washed, the half-read newspaper folded-up on an ottoman, the empty places in the neat line of shoes near the front door. A blanket lay crumpled on the sofa, along with a pillow – not a throw pillow, but one that had been borrowed from the bed, covered with a wrinkled pillowcase.

Frowning, he continued into the bedroom. A solitary pillow sat on the bed, which was meticulously made. Had they slept apart, their last night together? Feeling like the intruder he was, he gathered what he’d come here to get: pajama pants, t-shirts, jeans, underwear, socks, suit, dress shirt, tie, two pairs of shoes, and toiletries. He located a suit bag and carry-on suitcase, and packed everything up. Back at the front door, he took a quick look around to ensure he’d shut off all the lights, and turned to go, wondering if this was the first and last time he’d be here.

 

******

 

Their red eye flight landed at JFK at six-thirty Monday morning. They'd flown first class, giving Mike the chance to stretch out and sleep, aided by the pain medication prescribed by his doctor. Despite that, he appeared stiff and groggy as Harvey shepherded him through the airport to where Ray waited for them. He'd tried to convince Mike to accept a ride in a wheelchair, but he insisted that he was fine. He didn't look fine as he collapsed inside the town car, closed his eyes, and responded listlessly to Ray's greeting.

Ray drove them to Harvey's condo, where Harvey convinced Mike to swallow another pill and use Harvey's bed to get a few more hours of sleep. The funeral wasn't until one, so they had some time.

While Mike slept, Harvey showered, shaved, dressed, checked his emails and phone messages, and began to tackle what he thought would be only a couple of work-related calls. He'd been gone for a week, though, and two calls turned into four, which turned into a dozen.

After he’d managed to put out the most immediate fires, he was standing in the kitchen forcing down a sandwich when Mike emerged from the bedroom in pajama pants and t-shirt, rubbing a knuckle over one eye. His skin was nearly as pale as the thick dressing covering the wound on his shoulder.

“You hungry?” asked Harvey, eyeing Mike to assess his condition.

Mike frowned, considering the question. “I didn’t think I would be, but that sandwich actually looks kind of good.”

“Have a seat.”

Mike sat on one of the counter stools while Harvey put together a turkey and swiss sandwich for him. He set it on a plate, cut it in half, and slid the plate in front of Mike.

“Water okay?”

Mike nodded apathetically.

They ate their sandwiches.

“You ready for this?” asked Harvey. He kept his tone tight, but he meant the question as more than mere small talk. Mike’s blank look had him worried. He moved like a sleepwalker, eyes dazed and distant, as if he couldn’t bear to focus on the reality of what had happened. As far as Harvey knew, he hadn’t yet broken down and cried. At the funeral, he’d be forced to face his loss head on, and a public meltdown seemed all but guaranteed. Additionally, Robert's hostility would have to be navigated, or better yet, avoided entirely.

As they headed out the door, Harvey silently vowed to stick as close to Mike as he could. The collapse would come. It was only a question of when, and Harvey intended to be there for him when it did.


	2. Chapter 2

The rain had followed them from Seattle. More mist than rain, it ghosted from the warm, late summer sky as Ray pulled up in front of the funeral home.

The press had staked out the entrance. Burgundy velvet rope lined the pathway to the front door, keeping them back. Walking from the car into the building felt disconcertingly like walking the red carpet at an awards show. Mike kept his gaze on the ground and never looked up. Harvey guided him with one hand on his back, simmering with anger and ignoring the shouted questions that assaulted them.

As soon as they entered the building and the doors closed behind them, the comparative quiet felt like balm. Mike visibly relaxed. Donna was already there, along with Louis, Jessica, Gretchen, Benjamin, Oliver, and every attorney from the firm – from both firms. There were other faces Harvey didn't recognize, young enough to have been Rachel's classmates, he guessed. The place was packed.

Mike greeted his former colleagues – or rather, endured their greetings – and then tried to slip into a seat in the back row. Harvey steered him to the front of the room, almost regretting his decision when Mike flinched at the sight of the closed coffin. It was glossy mahogany, draped with flowers whose sweet, cloying fragrance filled the air.

Robert and Laura Zane were already seated, pressed together and gripping one another's hands. Harvey tensed as they caught sight of Mike, but no words were exchanged. Mike eased into the opposite end of the row. Before Harvey could move away, Mike gripped his arm, fingers digging painfully into him.

"Sit with me," he whispered.

Harvey's eyes cut over to the Zanes, then back to Mike. "I probably – "

"Please. I can't do this alone."

Harvey hesitated a moment longer before taking a seat beside Mike. He was more than willing to lend his support, but his proximity to Mike in this moment felt fraudulent, broadcasting a closeness that no longer existed, and may have only existed in the past in Harvey’s imagination and heart.

 

******

 

Objectively speaking, the service was lovely. Jessica delivered a heartfelt eulogy that set off a storm of weeping. Mike remained blank and unresponsive through the eulogy, the musical selection and the poignant poem read by one of Rachel's cousins, all the way up until the moment the pallbearers moved to the front of the room to lift the coffin and carry it to the waiting hearse for the trip to the graveside. He made a low, choking sound and buried his face in his hands, unable to watch.

Slowly, the room cleared. Mike lifted his head and turned to Harvey, eyes huge and damp. "I can't do this," he rasped. "I can't watch them put her in the ground. I'll … I'll crack apart."

As much as Harvey would have liked to indulge Mike, to protect and coddle him, he couldn’t do it. "I know it's hard," he said gently, "but imagine how you'll regret it if you aren’t there to say this final goodbye."

"Didn’t you hear me?” Mike’s rising voice held a note of hysteria. “I can’t bear it. I feel like a thousand knives are twisting in my gut. Robert blames me. They all blame me. They hate me. I did this to her. If I hadn't talked her into moving to Seattle … "

Harvey grabbed Mike’s shoulders and thrust his face close to his, speaking in a low, urgent voice. "That is pure, unadulterated bullshit. I was there, remember? Rachel made her own choice. You never would have made the move if she hadn't been on board. Are you planning to rewrite history, just so you can wallow? Or is this about you being afraid to face Robert?"

He knew he was being harsh, but Mike could not run from this, not yet. After Rachel was in the ground he could fall, and Harvey would be there to catch him. Just not yet.

“I’m not afraid,” Mike whispered, expression bleak. “I just feel so damn guilty. Rachel wanted …” He trailed off, not finishing the thought.

"Feel all the feelings you need to feel. But do not let Rachel down now, not in this. Don’t make a hasty decision that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“That’s sort of what I do, though.” Mike infused the words with a miserable sort of irony, somehow managing a weak but wry smile.

Pressing his advantage, Harvey helped Mike to his feet. “Come on. Ray’s waiting for us.” It continued to piss him off that Mike had not been invited to ride with the Zanes, but must follow after like some unwelcome afterthought. Mike had not shown any indication that he was concerned about, or even aware of, the snub, so Harvey had let it drop. Still, when the town car joined the procession of cars, the last in line, his own heart ached on Mike’s behalf.

 

******

 

After the somber graveside ceremony concluded, Laura Zane broke free of her husband and approached Mike.

“Will you come over to the house?” she asked, attempting a smile. “There will be food, and drinks and all the people Rachel loved.”

“Robert won’t want me there.”

She didn’t deny it. Her lips pinched together as fresh tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry about all this. He won't make a scene, but he's not happy that I'm over here speaking to you. He’s just in so much pain.”

So was she. So was Mike. Neither Mike or Harvey pointed out the obvious. Mike shifted his feet, obviously anxious to get away.

Laura breathed out a soft sigh. “How are you feeling? Your injuries, I mean. You look …”

_Alive?_

Mike didn’t say the word out loud, but Harvey could tell that is what he was thinking, guilt still gnawing at him. Mike shrugged, his gaze pinned to the ground.

“I should probably get him home,” said Harvey. “The doctors warned him not to overdo it.”

She didn’t argue, just touched Mike’s good arm and nodded once. “I understand. And don’t worry about Robert. Once he works through his feelings, he’ll realize how unfair he’s been.” She bit her lip. “Do you think we could get together before you go back to Seattle? I’d like to have a real talk with you.”

Mike nodded, even as Harvey gave him a troubled look. Back to Seattle? Surely he did not intend to return? Harvey hadn’t even considered it to be a possibility. He’d assumed they would have someone pack up Mike’s things, ship them east, and he’d stay with Harvey until – Until what?

With an effort, Harvey pushed away any the hopeful thoughts about a possible, undefined future with Mike. He wasn’t going to be that guy – that selfish, opportunistic jerk who took advantage of a tragedy to get what he wanted. He didn’t think Mike should return, though. Seattle wasn’t safe for him. It had nearly killed him. He’d done his bit of good for humanity, he’d paid the price, and now he should remain in New York and resume the life that had been interrupted.

As Harvey offered his condolences to Laura Zane, he was already thinking ahead. Mike hadn’t made any return travel plans yet. He’d have some time to work on him, to convince him that his best course of action was to tender his resignation to Andy Forsyth. He wouldn’t have to start working again immediately. He’d need time to grieve and come to terms with Rachel’s death. Eventually, though, they could pick up where they’d left off. Mike would return to Specter Litt. Harvey would approve more pro bono and class action cases.

He could make Mike happy again. He knew it. He just needed some time to make his case.

 

******

 

“I could really use a drink,” Mike announced as he lowered himself onto Harvey’s sofa, grimacing as his shoulder made contact.

“You shouldn’t mix alcohol with your pain meds.”

Mike shot an annoyed glance at Harvey. “I just buried my wife, and I’d like a goddamned drink. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

Harvey froze for half a second, staring back at Mike and trying not to be hurt by his irritable tone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“If you’re going to be a dick about it, I’ll just go to a bar.”

“I’m not going to let you do that.”

“Oh, what? You think you can stop me?”

Harvey could see where this was heading. Letting Mike leave to get drunk on his own could not end well and neither could arguing with him about it. If he stayed here, at least Harvey could keep an eye on him and monitor his alcohol intake. He relented, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. “What can I get you?”

“I think this calls for some of your snobby, manly scotch, don’t you?”

Without another word, Harvey headed for the kitchen, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of Macallan 18. Sitting across from Mike, he opened the bottle, poured, and handed one of the glasses to him. “To Rachel,” he said softly.

Mike did not respond in kind. His face tightened briefly before he raised his glass and drank.

Harvey waited until Mike had finished the first glass before asking, “Are you ready to talk yet?”

"About what?" Mike thrust his empty glass at Harvey, who poured him a modest amount.

"Anything you want. Rachel. The shooting. Your future."

"No, no, and no."

“Well, there’s something I would like to discuss. I don’t think you should go back to Seattle.”

Mike gaped at him. “You … _what?_ Why the hell not?”

_Because I love you, and I can’t bear to lose you again._

Harvey took a few moments to select more judicious words. “It’s not safe for you there.”

“Is it safe anywhere, really? And what sort of person would I be if I surrendered after one setback?”

“Setback? I think we both can agree it was a little more than a setback.”

“I still have a lot of things to accomplish. Andy is depending on me. A whole lot of people who have no one else on their side are depending on me. Right now, Andy and the rest of the firm are handling my cases, and I'm sure they're managing, but I don't feel right about leaving them short-handed for so long."

"I'm certain they would understand if you told them you need a little more time."

"But I don't. I'm fine."

Harvey wanted to growl in frustration. That was quintessential Mike, though. Always so stubborn and convinced he was right, and the rest of the world was wrong. “Why can’t you do the same work here, in New York?”

“Harvey …” Mike rubbed his face wearily. “What is this really about? Is your firm in trouble again?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I don’t understand. We’ve barely spoken in the last year. All of a sudden you show up in my hospital room, and now …” He shook his head. “What do you want from me?”

“It’s not about me wanting anything from you.” _Liar,_ he sneered at himself. “It’s just … You don’t belong in Seattle. You belong here.” Harvey knew he sounded desperate and ridiculously needy, but then, why shouldn’t he? He was both those things.

Mike made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.”

“Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Harvey tipped his empty glass to his lips, pretending to drink the last, non-existent drops. Time for a change of subject. "How's your shoulder?"

Mike’s features relaxed. "Okay. A little painful. I'll go see my doctor as soon as I get home."

Harvey ordered himself to keep breathing, slow and steady, and to speak in calm, measured tones, as if Mike weren’t being the most stubborn, wrong-headed fool in the world. "I see. Exactly how soon were you planning on leaving?"

Mike glared at him. "As soon as possible. I already explained why. And before you ask again, I’m fine.”

Harvey might have reminded him about his near-meltdown at the memorial service, but had no wish to argue with Mike, or cause him further pain. If lashing out at Harvey is what it took to ease some of the pressure inside him, Harvey could handle it. Once again, he pivoted to what he hoped would prove a safer topic. "Are you hungry?"

Mike raised his eyebrows and appeared to consider. "Not really, but …"

"But you should eat anyway."

Mike shut his eyes and nodded wearily.

While he wasn't looking, Harvey grabbed the bottle of scotch and headed for the kitchen to see if he had ingredients for a cheese omelet, which was his go to dish when he needed something fast and filling.

He kept half an eye on Mike while he assembled what he needed and started cracking eggs, employing the whisk, heating the pan, grating cheese, and pouring. Before the cheese had melted, Mike’s head tipped back, he snorted once, and was silent.

Harvey crept back to the sofa to remove the empty glass from Mike’s hand. He studied him for a few moments, wondering how many pain pills he’d had before the scotch, and debating with himself. Finally, deciding Mike had been too still for too long, he reached down and pressed his fingertips to his neck, feeing for a pulse. He found it easily, beating strongly beneath his touch, and he felt a little foolish for his worries.

Enjoying this first contact with Mike’s warm skin far too much, Harvey found it difficult to break away. His fingers lingered, and he silently counted the beats, absorbing the warmth.

Mike’s eyes fluttered open. “What – ?” He sat up, dislodging Harvey's hand. “Whoa. Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Harvey turned away and curled his hand into a fist, vaguely ashamed of himself.

The smoke detector blared.

“Shit. The eggs.”

Harvey hurried back to the kitchen to find the omelet scorched and the kitchen filling with smoke. He pulled the pan off the heat and tossed it in the sink to run water over it, switched on the fan, and then turned to find Mike standing a few feet away, an odd look on his face. His hand rested on his neck, in the exact spot where Harvey had been touching him. When he noticed Harvey watching him, his hand fell quickly to his side.

Mike nodded at the mess in the sink. "Was that our dinner?"

"Afraid so. Time for plan B, I guess. What would you like me to order?"

Mike yawned. "You know what? I've changed my mind. I need sleep more than I need food right now." He jerked a thumb in the direction of Harvey's bedroom. "Do you mind if I take the bed again?"

Harvey didn't mind, although he was surprised. Mike had stayed with him in the past, and had been perfectly happy on the sofa, which he'd declared the most comfortable couch-surfing he'd ever done.

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "After you're better rested, maybe we can continue discussing your future plans."

The look Mike gave him was distinctly exasperated, but he said nothing, only nodded his thanks before ducking his head and turning quickly away.

Harvey told himself he didn't have to worry that Mike would fall asleep and not wake up. He hadn't overdone either the scotch or the pills. He was more inclined to worry about Mike's buttoned up grief. In different circumstances, if Harvey hadn't been concerned about the unsafe mix of chemicals in Mike's bloodstream, he might have encouraged him to drink himself senseless in order to shake free all the feelings he seemed determined not to let out. Mike needed to let go.

Which is why, when he heard muffled weeping drifting from behind the closed bedroom door, his pity was mixed with relief. As much as he wanted to go to Mike and offer him support, he guessed this would not be welcomed. Instead, he allowed Mike his privacy. Maybe by morning he’d be ready to talk.

 

******

 

Harvey put in a few hours working in the living room, and then gave in to exhaustion around midnight. The quiet, wrenching sobs had stopped long before then. He undressed down to his boxer briefs, grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet, and fell asleep almost as soon as he'd stretched out on the sofa. He slept hard and deep, and woke up later than usual. The bedroom door was still closed.

He started a pot of coffee, thinking that he would see if Mike wanted to go out for breakfast. A change of scenery might help him gain perspective.

When Mike still hadn't put in appearance by ten o'clock, Harvey tapped lightly on the bedroom door. No reply. He knocked again, louder. Finally, counseling himself not to panic, he opened the door a crack. The room was empty. The bed had been made and Mike's suitcase was gone. A folded sheet of paper with Harvey's name scrawled on it was propped against the pillows.

He guessed what the paper would say before he fumbled it open.

_"Harvey, I got a flight back to Seattle that leaves this morning. Didn't want to wake you. Thanks for taking care of me this past week. I need to get back to work. Let's keep in touch."_

 

_******_

Harvey might have preferred to spend the day at home, finishing off the bottle of Macallan to anesthetize this latest gaping wound in his heart, but he'd been away from the office for too long. He had clients and partners who depended on him, none of whom would appreciate hearing that he'd blown them off to drink the day away – or that he’d hopped on a plane back to Seattle. If this had been some cheesy rom-com, he might have done just that. This was real life, though. Mike was still grieving, and in any case, he'd never reciprocated Harvey's feelings. He'd chosen Rachel, for which Harvey could hardly blame him.

So, he sucked it up, just as he'd done one year, two months and ten days ago, and for seven years before that.

But who was counting?

 

******

 

A week later, Harvey was at work, still stoically sucking it up, when he received a text from an unknown number, which turned out to be Mike.

_"Had to get a new phone. I'm also looking for a new place to live. Staying at a hotel for now."_

Harvey was considering how to reply when a second text arrived.

_"Sorry to ask this, but would you mind relaying my apology to Rachel's mom? I left town without seeing her again (obviously). Talk soon."_

He shook his head, frowning down at the texts. New phone, new home. Could he not stand to go back to the condo he'd shared with Rachel, or had something else driven him away? Mike could disguise almost anything in a text, but his voice had always betrayed his true feelings. Determined to get the truth out of him, Harvey dialed the number he had just saved to his contacts.

On his first attempt, the phone rang four times before going to voicemail. Harvey hung up and tried again. This time, Mike picked up.

"Harvey." He sounded subdued and cautious.

"What happened to your phone?" asked Harvey, not bothering with the niceties.

“I had to change my number, so I went ahead and upgraded while I was at it. The new model is great. You should really – ”

“Stop. You know perfectly well what I’m asking. Why did you have to get a new number? And why the hell are you staying at a hotel? What’s going on out there?”

Without him realizing it, his voice had risen, until he was practically shouting. In a calmer tone he asked, “Have you gotten more threats?” This time, he waited out Mike’s silence.

A sigh, so loud and sounding so close he could almost feel it waft against his ear. “The threats are pretty much a constant by now. Background noise.”

“Surely you’re taking steps –”

“Forsyth is paying for round-the-clock security now, but …” He trailed off.

“But what?”

 I, uh, someone broke in last night.”

“Into the condo?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

They were both quiet, while Harvey’s _I told you so_ seemed to shimmer in the air in front of him. Deciding to keep that in reserve, he said, “Do they have any leads?”

“Nothing tangible. My money’s on Laydon.”

“The gun manufacturer?”

“It smacks of intimidation. They could have hurt me if they’d wanted to. Instead, they scared the shit out of me and then took off before the police arrived.”

“How many were there?”

“Two.”

“Can you identify them?”

“No. They wore masks.”

Harvey swallowed and swallowed, feeling as if he might be ill. “How soon until the appeal is heard?”

“Not for a few months.”

Harvey shook his head, even though he knew Mike couldn’t see him. It might make sense to Mike, but it didn’t make sense to him. Even if Laydon scared Mike off, some other publicity hungry attorney would inevitably take the case. If the intent was to throw Mike off his game, why not do it closer to the date of the hearing?

“What about your other cases?” he asked.

“Harvey …” Mike’s voice broke. He was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m just trying to keep my head above water here. I don’t need you calling me up and haranguing me.”

“I’m not – ”

“There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I can do besides keep working my cases.”

“You could come home.”

“See? Haranguing. And not helping. I’ve got to go.”

“Mike – ”

The line went dead.

 

******

 

Harvey waited until he was home from work, with one drink under his belt, before calling Laura Zane.

“He went back to Seattle already?” She sounded disappointed, but not surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he said, even though it wasn’t his place to apologize for Mike. “He’s very dedicated to his work.”

She sighed. “Oh, I know all about his dedication. Rachel had plenty to say about it every time we spoke.”

He could hear something below the surface of her words – something tart and rueful. He remembered the blanket on the couch in Mike’s condo, and the pillow from their bed. Delicately, he probed, “She was unhappy in Seattle?”

“What? No, she loved the city. It was just that being away from everything and everyone they’d known was hard on the marriage. Any marriage has rocky patches, but between the stress of a new job, and adjusting to new surroundings, they had more than their share of obstacles that first year.” She let out a sad laugh. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I wish Mike had called me himself.” A short silence, as she seemed to deliberate. “You two were always close, though. I think that’s half the reason Rachel accepted the job. She didn’t believe she could compete with you while Mike was still in the same city as you.”

Harvey squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as if in pain. “Laura, I never – ”

“No, no. I know. Her insecurities were no fault of yours. And she’d come to terms with the situation, even though it took her a while, and a few too many quarrels with Mike. That’s why I wanted to talk to him, to make sure he knew she’d decided to give him what he wanted.”

“And what was that?”

“An uncontested divorce. She was going to tell him over breakfast at their favorite café in the neighborhood. I think that’s where they were headed, when – ” She stopped talking abruptly.

“Ah, I see," he said, doing his best to disguise his shock.

Several seconds of awkward silence followed.

“Did Robert know?” he finally asked. “About the divorce, I mean.”

“No. He would have tried to talk her out of it.”

“Even though …”

“Even though he always acted like Mike wasn’t good enough for her? That was all bluster. Basic Protective Dad stuff. Don’t let it fool you. He was fond of Mike.”

_Was._

“Are you going to tell Robert now?”

“No. Why cause him more pain?”

Harvey gave a grunt. Laura had already revealed far more than he was entitled to hear, but he couldn’t stop himself from digging for more. “Why were they splitting up? Had things gotten so bad between them?”

“Well. I’m sure there was a lot she didn’t tell me. The main sticking point was that Mike wanted to move back to New York, and she preferred to stay in Seattle.”

“Are you sure?” he blurted. Mike had seemed eager enough to get back there a week ago. Maybe she had it backwards.

“That’s what Rachel told me.”

“But, why?”

“Oh, Harvey.” She sighed. “I can’t pretend to know the answer to that. Maybe he missed his friends. Maybe he felt he was in over his head at Forsyth. It doesn’t matter anymore. I do know that she never stopped loving him, and I believe he still loved her. It was just no longer enough.”

He wasn’t sure he understood. If love wasn’t enough, what was?

After telling her once more how sorry he was for her loss, he ended the call.

 

******

 

Harvey sat with a glass of scotch in his hand, thinking long into the night, puzzling over Mike’s behavior. According to Laura Zane, he’d told Rachel he wanted out of Seattle, but with her gone, he’d dug in hard, insisting that he belonged right where he was.

It had to be guilt holding him there, combined with a need to finish the work she’d chosen over him. It was difficult to reconcile the Mike that Laura had spoken of with the eternally idealistic, head-over-heels in love man Harvey had said goodbye to at his wedding. He’d seemed to have finally gotten everything he’d ever wanted.

Unless …

Harvey shook his head sharply to dislodge the seductive notion that had presented itself to him. Mike had never given the slightest hint that he missed Harvey enough to upend his new life. They’d barely spoken in the last year. This all had to be down to Mike's dissatisfaction with the reality of marriage versus the image of it he'd carried in his mind.

By eleven o'clock, he was well-lubricated with scotch and ready to stagger to bed, but he remembered the message Laura had asked him to deliver to Mike. It was only eight in Seattle, so why not get it over with now, and maybe get some answers at the same time?

Frustratingly, his call went to voicemail. This time, instead of hanging up and trying again, he left a message.

 _"Hey. It's me. I talked to Laura. She had a message to pass along regarding Rachel. But …"_ His nerve deserted him. _"Let's talk about it in person. I mean, on the phone. Not in a message."_ He paused, and his nerve rallied. _"Look, Mike, if you're ever in any difficulty, or just need someone to talk to, you know you can call me, right? Any time, day or night. Let's not let the geographical distance between us dictate the, er, emotional one."_

He gave an embarrassed cough and fuzzily wondered how much he was going to regret this phone call tomorrow.

_"Anyway, call me. Whenever."_

Scowling, he hung up, half-convinced he'd scared Mike off for good.

 

******

 

It wasn't Mike who called him back three days later, but Andy Forsyth. He got straight to the point.

"I think Mike's in trouble."

Harvey took a moment to allow alarm to roll through him, waiting until he could respond in measured tones. "What do you mean?"

"He hasn't left the office for four days. I'm not sure he's slept at all. He hasn't changed his clothes, or showered, and he won’t allow anyone else to go near his cases."

Harvey thought back to all the long hours Mike had put in as an associate. He’d been dedicated and single-minded, but nothing like Forsyth was describing.

Forsyth was talking again. “You used to work with him. You probably know him better than I do. Got any advice?”

“Advice on how to move Mike Ross from a path he’s set himself on? You’re kidding, right?”

A chuckle from Forsyth. “Yes, he can be … determined. This is different though. Losing Rachel …”

“Of course he’s taking it hard. She was everything to him.”

“Harvey …” A brief pause. “I’m likely overstepping my bounds here, but things between them weren’t quite as perfect as you might assume.”

“Oh?”

“They never came right out and said anything, but you can usually tell. Things got pretty tense between them, the last few months.”

“How so?” Harvey felt no qualms about pumping the man for information.

“Body language. A few lifetimes ago, I worked as a jury consultant, and I’m trained in that area.”

“That’s it? Body language?”

“We were also treated to several shouting matches behind closed doors. Incidentally, after the last one, one of our paralegals asked me, ‘Who the hell is Harvey?’ Any idea how your name came into it?”

Harvey did, but he wasn’t about to share it with Andy Fucking Forsyth. “It’s not the first time my name’s been taken in vain, and I’m certain it won’t be the last.”

“Hm. Okay. Well, clearly, you figure into the whole Ross-Zane conundrum in some way, whether you want to admit it or not. If you come up with any advice on handling Mike, I’d appreciate if you let me know. If not, I apologize for wasting your time.”

Harvey was still bristling over Forsyth’s use of the word “handling,” when the man hung up on him.

 

******

 

After staring blankly at his desk for close to half an hour, Harvey finally admitted that there was only one course of action to take. He went to see Louis, who, predictably, was not happy with his decision.

“Damn it, Harvey, you were just gone for a week. We’re all still up to our eyeballs trying to catch up, and now this?”

“Louis, you wrote the by-laws yourself. Would you like me to quote you chapter and verse regarding the firm’s policy on partner sabbaticals?”

“No, I would not. But they aren’t intended to be taken at the drop of the hat. They’re meant to be scheduled well in advance, so we can plan and make accommodations.”

“This is for Mike. He needs my help.” Whether or not he would accept it was another matter, but Louis didn’t need to know that. “Would you rather I tender my resignation?”

Louis gave a pinched scowl. “No.” His nostrils flared. “Fine. We all know far you’ll go to help Mike Ross. Take your – how long are you asking for?”

“Asking. That’s adorable. I’m not asking, I’m informing you that I may be away from the office for up to six months.” As Louis let out an indignant squawk, Harvey held up one hand. “I’m not saying I’ll be gone that long, but it’s a possibility you should be prepared for.”

“Prepared how?”

“We’ve already talked about taking on another partner as a lateral hire. Choose one. Hell, choose two. As interim managing partner, it’s your call.”

“Interim?” Louis took on a cagey expression. “If you’re going to disappear for six months, I think I’m owed more than that.”

“Such as?”

“I want to be managing partner. Full stop. Nothing ‘interim’ about it.” He waited a few seconds, and then prodded, “Agreed?”

Harvey didn’t even hesitate. “Agreed.” He could always fight Louis for it when he got back. On the other hand, maybe the firm would be better off with Louis at the helm. That particular battle could wait, though. He had travel plans to make, and cases to hand off.

As he stood to leave, Louis said in a conciliatory tone, “Give Mike my best, would you?”

Harvey nodded. He would do that.

And for the first time in over a year, he would absolutely give Mike his best, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Harvey heard the shouting as soon as the elevator doors opened onto the main floor of Forsyth and Associates. Finding the reception desk unoccupied, he followed the sounds of commotion down the hallway and around a corner, where a crowd of a dozen or so employees gaped at the unfolding drama, at the center of which was Mike. He brandished a file folder at a sobbing young woman, inches from her mascara-striped face. Andy Forsyth clutched his arm, attempting to haul him back.

“I told you – I told everyone – to leave my files the fuck alone.” Mike looked enraged, and seconds away from having spittle fly from his mouth. He was dressed in wrinkled suit pants, an untucked, coffee-stained white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, one sock, and no shoes. If Forsyth hadn’t already warned Harvey about his condition, it would have been evident from the unhinged gleam in his eyes. He was teetering on the edge, seemingly ready to fly apart.

At first, Harvey couldn’t hear what Forsyth was saying to him, only the soothing tones he used. Forsyth caught sight of Harvey, and nearly wilted with relief. Harvey moved closer.

“Look, Mike,” said Forsyth, “here’s your friend, Harvey. Maybe you could leave off reprimanding Miranda for long enough to say hello.”

Mike turned to stare at Harvey, eyes clouding with confusion, mouth falling open. He gave his head a rough shake, as if trying to shake loose a hallucination.

Harvey took another step, close enough now to see the minute tremors that shook Mike’s body. It had been less than two weeks since he’d seen him, and he was shocked by how rapidly his appearance had deteriorated. He’d lost more weight. The dark pouches under his eyes aged him at least a decade. His filthy clothes hung too loosely on his lanky frame, and a distinctly rank odor emanated from his unwashed body and greasy hair.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Miranda skittered backwards, turned and hurried down the hall, disappearing around a corner.

“Mike,” said Harvey, voice low and gentle, “let’s you and I go into your office, where we can talk in private.” He directed a questioning look at Forsyth, who nodded toward a nearby doorway.

Mike shook off Forsyth’s restraining grasp. “It’s sabotage,” he muttered, eyes darting between Harvey, and Forsyth, and his audience, which seemed to have grown in the few minutes since Harvey had arrived. “Everything was arranged and organized. I was this close to breaking the case wide open.” He held up a shaking thumb and forefinger. “And then … sabotage.” This last was spoken in a whisper.

“That’s a shame, buddy. I want to hear all about it, and then we’ll get to the bottom of it.” He herded Mike into his office, taking advantage of his momentary confusion. Behind him, Forsyth ordered everyone to get back to work. When he made as if to join Harvey and Mike, Harvey shook his head and closed the door in his face.

Inside the office, Harvey urged Mike toward the leather sofa. “Have a seat.”

Mike took a step back, eyes wild. “Have a seat? Don’t you get it? I can’t have a seat. I don’t have time for a … a … goddamn seat, Harvey.”

“Just for a minute. Surely you’ve got one minute to spare?”

“I don’t. If I did, I’d take it. But it’s all hands on deck time.” A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of him. “Except my hands are the only ones I can trust.” He raised his voice, shouting once more. “Because I work with fucking incompetents!” He lowered his voice. “I’m a machine, Harvey. You know that. I do what I have to do. I can’t let anyone get in my way, not even you.”

Harvey took one careful step towards Mike. If he had gone without sleep for as long as Forsyth had said, his brain had to be fried by now. He obviously was not thinking rationally. Luckily, Harvey had come prepared for this eventuality. “Give me one minute. Sixty seconds. That’s all I ask. Come on, Mike. Just sit down and have a drink of water.”

Instead of complying, Mike paced unsteadily up and down the room, running a hand through his messy hair, and muttering under his breath. The water carafe on the credenza was perhaps one quarter full, but that was all Harvey needed. He poured a glass, and while Mike’s back was turned, tipped a small vial of colorless liquid into the glass. This was plan A. He hoped it worked, because he didn’t want to resort to plan B, which consisted of a well-placed right hook to Mike’s jaw.

“Here,” he said carrying the glass to Mike. “Even machines need to stay hydrated. Go on. Drink it all down, and then we can get to work.” At the surprised look in Mike’s eyes, he said, “Unless you think I’m incompetent too?”

Mike’s pacing halted. He peered at Harvey. “No, not you. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you. That’s why you’re here? Not to … to … rein me in?”

Harvey sat, and patted the seat cushion next to him. “Rein you in? Absolutely not. I’m here to lend a hand, and the first order of business is to have you brief me on your progress, and how you plan to proceed.” He patted the cushion again. “Sit. Please.”

Finally, Mike approached, one shaky step at a time. He dropped inelegantly onto the couch and let out a shuddering sigh. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but stopped when Harvey handed him the glass. “Thanks,” he muttered, and tipped the glass to his mouth, draining it with one long, noisy swallow.

Harvey expelled a slow, silent breath, faintly relieved at how easy that had been. This was only one step of the multi-part plan he’d formulated since talking to Louis. Getting the knockout drug had been almost scarily simple. He’d been forced to check his luggage at the airport, having no wish to explain the small vial to the TSA agents. From Forsyth, he’d gotten the name of Mike’s hotel, along with the room number. He’d booked a suite on the same floor, and moved Mike’s things into it, along with his own.

He hadn’t been certain, until he’d gotten a good look at Mike, that he would actually use the drug, but had immediately judged that his need for sleep trumped Harvey’s preference for gaining permission. The drug worked fast, undoubtedly helped along by Mike’s advanced state of exhaustion. His eyelids drooped, his shoulders sagged, and within a matter of minutes, he tipped to one side, head landing on Harvey’s shoulder. Harvey slid out from underneath him and rearranged him so that he lay stretched out on the couch. No blanket was available, so he draped his own jacket on top of him.

Standing over him, Harvey studied Mike’s slack features. As rough as his appearance was, he’d lost his tortured, haunted look, at least for the moment. Harvey didn’t deceive himself into thinking the worst was over. He didn’t know for sure how long Mike would be out, but using past experience as his guide, he guessed that Mike would likely wake up angry as hell.

Finally tearing his gaze away, Harvey moved to the door and poked his head into the hallway. The young woman who’d been the object of Mike’s earlier rant sat at a desk outside. She’d dried her tears and repaired her makeup, but still appeared rattled by the confrontation.

“You’re Miranda, right? Mike’s assistant?”

She gave him a wary look. “Maybe. I don’t know. Has he fired me yet today?”

He grimaced, trying to appear sympathetic. “That was pretty rough. Are you okay?”

Shrugging, she tapped away at her keyboard. “I should be used to it by now.” She sighed. “He wasn’t like this … before.” She glanced past Harvey at the doorway, seemed to think better of sharing gossip about her boss, and changed the subject. “So, you’re the famous Harvey.”

“I don’t know about famous …”

“In this little corner of the world, you are.” Her eyes grew troubled, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is Mike okay?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Finally. Thank God.”

Harvey decided he liked Miranda, with her dark, choppy hair, black slacks, flowered peasant blouse, and sparkly sandals. He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Can you tell me what set him off earlier?” When she didn’t respond right away, he moved closer to the desk, leaned his arms on the counter in front of her, and turned on the charm. “It’s okay, Miranda. I’ve known Mike for a long time. I consider him a good friend. I’m here because I care about him, and I want to help.”

“Oh, no, sure. I get that. I just wouldn’t want to … you know … speak out of turn. He’s my boss. He’s a great guy. Well, the last week hasn’t been so great, but those assholes sprung it on him at the worst possible time. I’ll just bet they knew exactly what they were doing.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Which assholes were these?”

“Laydon’s counsel. They applied for – and were granted – a fast-track appeal. Jesus. Like Mike needed that right now.”

Mike’s behavior began to make sense. “How fast?”

“Less than a month. Mike’s been freaking out about that for the last couple of days. You couldn’t tell, at first. Or, I should say, I could tell, because I know him pretty well by now, but not everyone saw it right away. He gets all super-focused and intense, and I have to remind him to eat, but when he started snapping at everyone who came within a few feet of him – this was, like three days ago? – I could tell this was some extra bad shit. He drives himself so hard, and maybe gets angry at himself if he misses something, which he rarely does, but taking it out on his staff?” She shook her head, mouth twisting, as if about to start crying again. “That kinda sucks, but I get it, you know? After what happened to Rachel …”

She did start crying then, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose loudly. “Sorry. I still can’t believe it. You knew her too, right?”

“Yes, I did.” He waited a minute or so while she regained control of herself. “So, Miranda, here’s what we’re going to do while Mike catches up on his sleep. First, you’re going to brief me on everything to do with the Laydon case. After that, I’d very much appreciate it if you would order some dinner for Mike, and myself, and you, if you’re hungry by then.”

She gave him a look of dread. “Ah, shit. Another all-nighter?”

“No. Not for you. Or for Mike, unless you count sleeping all night. I might be staying up a little past my bedtime after I get Mike back to his hotel, but none of us are going to work ourselves to the point of exhaustion again. Clear?”

Miranda’s face brightened. “Clear. And Mike was right. You are kinda awesome.”

 

 

******

 

 

Six hours later, Harvey had a hand under Mike's arm as he guided him in a swerving path across the hotel lobby. They received a few looks before they reached the elevator, some amused and some pitying. To the casual observer, Mike probably appeared highly intoxicated.

He'd woken up in his office confused and groggy, but thankfully not combative, and had put up little resistance when Harvey pressed half a sandwich on him, and then helped him put his shoes on and urged him to leave the office.

Harvey had learned from Miranda that Mike had dismissed his security team two days earlier, over the strenuous objections of Forsyth, claiming they'd been spying on him. Tomorrow, he’d look for suitable replacements.

Inside the suite, Harvey steered him toward the bathroom. "Are you okay on your own in the shower?" he asked. "Promise not to fall on your ass?"

Mike yawned, blinking sleepily at Harvey. "I don't need a shower."

"My poor, abused nose begs to differ. Your body odor should have its own zip code, preferably on a different continent."

"Did someone give you the mistaken impression once that you were funny?"

Harvey hid a relieved smile. Snark was a good sign. "Just go shower, all right?"

"If I do, can I go back to the office?"

"Not tonight."

"Harvey." Mike let out an aggrieved sigh. "You have no idea what's going on here."

"I have some idea. I spoke to Miranda while you were sleeping." Mike opened his mouth as if to argue, and Harvey held up a hand. "I don't want to hear another word about Laydon, or Miranda, or anything else work-related. Not tonight." He stared Mike down, wordlessly daring him to put up a fight. Mike remained silent, but he didn't look happy. "I'm here to help."

"Who asked you? And who says I need any help?”

“The answer to both those questions is Andy Forsyth.”

Mike sneered. “Andy Fucking Forsyth. Sometimes I wish I’d never heard that name.”

 _Interesting._ Harvey had thought he was the only one who felt that way. “He’s concerned about you. That’s why he called in the big guns.”

“Still got that ego, I see.” Sighing, Mike swayed slightly on his feet. “What about your own clients? Your own firm?”

“I decided to take some time off.”

Mike stared at him. They both knew that Harvey had never taken more than a day or two off at a time before, and even that was a rare occurrence. He could almost see the wheels turning in Mike’s head, trying to puzzle this out. If Harvey had been prone to blushes, he might have pinkened in embarrassment. Good thing he was made of sterner stuff. He met Mike’s gaze steadily.

“How much time?” Mike asked.

“As much as it takes.”

“Non-responsive.”

“As of yesterday, I am officially on sabbatical.” Mike’s eyes widened in surprise. “Now, go take that shower. While you’re in there, you can think up more searching questions for me.”

 

******

 

While Mike was showering and changing his clothes, Harvey ordered from room service. He wasn’t hungry, but Mike clearly needed to replenish his reserves. If he could get him to eat a little more, and sleep the rest of the night through, he would call this day a success. He preferred not to drug Mike into unconsciousness again, but if that’s what it took, he wouldn’t hesitate for an instant.

Just after the food arrived (expedited with the lure of an extra-generous tip), Mike appeared, wearing pajama pants and one of the hotel’s robes, loosely belted around his narrow waist.

“Am I imagining things,” asked Mike, “or is this a different room than the one I left yesterday, er, two days ago … whatever.” He trailed off, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Five days,” said Harvey. “You were at work for five days straight.” He gestured at the table, which held a covered plate. “Have some dinner. You look as if you’ve skipped a few too many meals.”

Mike sat at the table and lifted the tray, eyebrows lifting in apparent approval at the steak and fries Harvey had ordered him. He dug in eagerly. After a minute, he said through a mouthful of food, “How’d you get the hotel to move my stuff? I mean, that seems like kind of a violation of the guest code.”

“There’s no such thing. And do you really have to ask? I’m me.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, you certainly are. Hey, do you think I could have a beer with this?”

“Just one, and only because it might help you sleep.” He grabbed a beer from the mini bar.

“Which I’ll do for three hours, tops, and only because you flew all the way out here to tuck me in.” He kept his gaze fixed on his plate as he said this.

Mike was the blushing type, and Harvey watched, fascinated, as a faint wave of pink crept up his neck to his cheeks.

“Eight hours,” countered Harvey. “I should insist on twelve, considering the deficit you have to make up for.”

“How much did I get on my couch at the office?”

“That was a nap. Naps don’t count.”

Mike just grunted in reply to that. Realizing he’d been staring at Mike while he ate, Harvey turned away and took a seat in front of the television. He lifted the remote to turn it on to the local news, not paying attention to the wisecracking anchors, and reflecting that all the back-and-forth, low-key bickering between himself and Mike allowed them to ignore the deeper conversation they should be having.

Harvey wanted to ask him how he was coping, and he wanted a real, honest answer, not a flippant “I’m doing fine,” which was so obviously not true. He also wanted to ask him about the divorce, and his decision to stay in Seattle. Most importantly, he wanted to ask him why, before Rachel’s death, he’d been set on returning to New York.

He didn’t ask him any of these things.

When Mike finished eating, he pushed back from the table and shot Harvey an enquiring look. “Are we sharing a bed?”

Harvey kept his face expressionless. “There are two bedrooms. I put your things in the one on the left.” He hesitated. “Will you give me your word that you won’t try to sneak out in the middle of the night? Or am I going to have to drag a mattress in front of the door?”

Mike’s jaw-cracking yawn turned into a rueful laugh. “That’s your answer, I guess.” With an index finger, he swiped an “X” on his chest. “I solemnly swear I won’t leave until the allotted eight hours have passed.”

“Fantastic.” Harvey wasn’t sure he believed him, but short of drugging him again, all he could do was sleep with one eye and both ears open.

 

******

 

Mike didn’t give him any problems that night. He saved that for the morning. Harvey had been awake for a while, and had showered, dressed and ordered them breakfast. Mike made his appearance just as Harvey was pouring his first cup of coffee. Like Harvey, he was dressed and ready for work. He looked one thousand times better than he had yesterday afternoon, but still needed a few weeks of decent meals and adequate sleep to fully return to the old Mike Harvey remembered.

Mike gave Harvey a swift, assessing glance, and then made straight for the coffee pot.

“Feeling better?” asked Harvey.

“I thought maybe I had imagined last night. Or dreamed you.” He stirred sugar and cream into his coffee and sipped it, staring at the floor. “But I’m definitely awake, and there you are, undeniably real and in the flesh. You actually came.”

Harvey cocked his head, baffled by Mike’s odd tone. “Of course I came.” _Again. Always._

Mike shifted his gaze to Harvey’s face. “Of course? After barely a word from you for the past year?”

“Hey. I came when you were shot.”

Mike’s laugh sounded bitter. “If I’d known that’s what it would take …”

Harvey felt himself getting angry, and took several deep, slow breaths. “That sentence had better not end with, ‘I would have gotten shot sooner’.”

No response from Mike, who was now aggressively buttering a croissant.

“Look, I’m sorry if you think I wasn’t an attentive enough pen pal, or whatever you’re implying. Honestly? I figured you needed time to become acclimated here, and to figure out your new position. That’s not even mentioning the fact that you were a newlywed. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Inwardly, Harvey sneered at himself. _Honestly?_ There wasn’t much honesty in what he’d just said. More accurately, he’d been nursing a hurt that had felt like a mortal wound, and fighting off the return of his panic attacks. His time as Paula’s patient must have done some good at least, because he’d coped and moved on. Sort of. Except he’d finally had to admit to himself that he’d never be over Mike.

Mike’s mouth twisted, and he gave Harvey a look that said, _bullshit._ He’d always seen right through him.

Harvey might have suggested that they leave for work, but Mike was busy with his breakfast, so he decided to take advantage of the moment and address the other issue that was bothering him. Mike was already at least halfway to being thoroughly pissed off at him, so why not?

“I talked to Laura.”

“I know. I heard your message.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know what she said?”

Mike sighed. “No. Not really. I have a feeling you’re about to tell me anyway.”

Harvey steeled himself. “She said that Rachel had agreed to the divorce.”

Mike’s expression closed off as abruptly as if a gate had slammed shut in front of his face. “It was only something we talked about. I’ll bet all married couples have that discussion at some point, probably more than once.”

“Just something you talked about?”

“We had some disagreements that first year.” He shrugged, as if to minimize those “disagreements.” “There was a lot of new stuff to get used to.” He pushed a plate of scrambled eggs away from himself and wiped his hands with a napkin, paying close attention to every joint of each finger.

“Mike.” Harvey paused and gentled his voice. “If you don’t want to hear Laura’s message, just say so, but you should know that it was really a message to you from Rachel.”

With his elbows braced on the table, Mike pressed his forehead to the heels of his hands, eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. “Why are you doing this?”

Harvey knew he should probably just drop it and move on, but if Mike didn’t hear the truth, he might end up burning himself out – or getting hurt again, worse than before – for no good reason. “That morning of the shooting, Rachel intended to agree to a divorce. She would stay in Seattle, and you would return to New York, as you wanted.”

Without lifting his head, Mike shook it back and forth in mute denial.

Daring much, Harvey moved closer and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you’d hoped. You have to see, though –”

“I have to see what? That life is just that way? Dreams don’t come true? Love doesn’t stay?” He laughed, ugly and harsh. “I’m a slow learner, but I get it now. Don’t you worry about that.”

Harvey took the seat next to Mike, angling his body to get a better look at his face. “Is it true that you wanted to come back to New York?” Mike didn’t say anything. “Why? You had everything you wanted here. Dream job. Dream girl. You say dreams don’t come true? From where I’m sitting, it seems like all of yours did.”

Finally, Mike lowered his hands and looked Harvey square in the eyes. “You know the tricky thing about dreams?” He squinted, as if considering his words carefully. “The tricky thing is knowing the difference between the dreams you think you should have – the ones that make sense – and the ones that make no sense, that you don’t recognize until its too late, and that can never – ” He shook his head sharply, pressing his lips together. “You know what? This is all making my head hurt. And it’s not doing anything to get me ready for the appeal hearing. If you weren’t lying about being here to help, it’s time to get moving and get to work. So, are you in?”

He nodded, half-distracted, as they both headed for the door. As they rode the elevator down and waited for the doorman to call them a cab, he was still trying to interpret Mike’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been challenging this week, putting writing on the backburner. I'm still going, but progress is slow, so if the next chapter is a bit longer in coming, I apologize in advance. (It will come. I finish everything I start. If I don't finish something, you can probably assume I'm dead. Not that I think that will happen anytime soon, but I'm just saying …)


	4. Chapter 4

Working with Mike again was like falling back into a comfortable, well-worn habit. Harvey did his best to tamp down his elation, in consideration of the circumstances which had brought him here. He hadn’t fully realized how much he’d missed this, though, the sense of perfect understanding between them, almost to the point of completing one another’s sentences, and inhabiting one another’s minds.

Still, it wasn’t exactly the same as it had been before. This new Mike remained understandably subdued, with flashes of bitterness flaring when he spoke. He didn’t focus as sharply as he used to, and Harvey caught him staring blankly into space more than once. Despite catching up on his sleep, he was clearly still exhausted, and this continued to impact his emotional state.

His legal expertise had not suffered. The original case against Laydon had been audacious, to say the least. It was a well-accepted legal fact that you couldn’t go after the gun manufacturers and claim them liable in a shooting death. Their product was doing what it had been created to do. A lot had been made lately of bump stocks, and how they enabled a shooter to modify an AR-15 type gun to mimic an automatic weapon. The shooter in Mike’s case had done exactly that, upping the body count tremendously.

Mike might have pursued the company that made and sold the bump stocks. That would have been Harvey’s first instinct. Instead, he dug up proof that Laydon had been actively promoting the modification, with archived links on their website that had since been removed, and inserts in their product packaging which had been discontinued. Even so, the case had been a flimsy one, in Harvey’s opinion, and in the opinions of nearly everyone else who’d commented on it in the media.

Ignoring the “experts,” Mike had forged ahead, and constructed an impeccable case. His closing arguments united fact and emotion to sway the jury to his side. After Harvey had read the transcripts, easily picturing Mike as he deftly painted his verbal masterpiece, the jury’s unanimous decision had made perfect sense.

Laydon’s appeal was centered around an alleged incorrect interpretation of the law by the presiding judge. They knew, Mike knew, and Harvey agreed, that this was complete horseshit. The judge hadn’t misinterpreted the law. She’d stretched its limits, as Mike had intended, and in so doing, had created new precedent. Every gun manufacturer in the country was probably shitting itself over the litigation possibilities opened up by Mike’s win.

No wonder he was getting death threats.

No wonder he and Rachel had been targeted.

Harvey understood all of this less than an hour after they’d arrived at work Monday morning. He excused himself, left Mike’s office, and went to make some phone calls.

 

******

 

“No,” said Mike, barely glancing up from his computer screen.

Harvey gave the two men standing with him in front of Mike’s desk an apologetic grimace.

“Mike, this is non-negotiable.”

“Everything is negotiable. You taught me that.”

Turning to the two security experts he’d hired – Dwayne and Charlie – Harvey murmured, “Can you wait in the hallway for a few minutes? Miranda can point you in the direction of the coffee.”

Miranda had blatantly admired their extravagant muscles when they’d been introduced, and would likely be fine with roasting the beans and brewing the coffee herself.

When they were alone, Harvey dragged a chair closer to Mike’s desk, sat, and leaned his arms on the cluttered surface, bringing his face perhaps a foot from Mike’s. “What is your issue with Dwayne and Charlie? Come on, let’s hear it. Why would you object to a security detail? I know you fired your last one, but I assumed that was because you were stupid with lack of sleep. What is it now? Are you just plain stupid?” That had come out harsher than he’d intended, but he let the words stand – or hang there between them.

Mike sighed, jaw clenched, and glared at Harvey over the top of his computer. “I don’t need a couple of steroidal babysitters shadowing me everywhere, eating my food and breathing my oxygen.”

“Eating your food?”

“I don’t trust them. What if they’re plants from Laydon? The last two certainly didn’t do anything to stop the home invasion. I even caught one of them going through my files when he thought I was sleeping.”

Harvey studied him, trying to determine how much of this was paranoia, and how much was real. He decided to take Mike at his word. What good could it do to doubt in him? If it was simple paranoia, Harvey couldn’t afford to have it turned against him.

“I don’t know about the last two, but I can tell you that Dwayne and Charlie come highly recommended.”

“By who?” He tapped away on his keyboard, mouth set in a mulish expression.

“Remember Vanessa?”

That caught Mike’s interest. He stopped typing and looked up. “Sure. She knows people in Seattle?”

“She knows people everywhere. If I asked her to find me a cheese monger in Phoenix at three in the morning, I’d expect a call back in less than ten minutes.”

Mike’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “A cheese monger?”

“It’s just an example. The point is, she knows her stuff. If she says Dwayne and Charlie are stand up guys who can be trusted with your life, you can believe it.”

“Anyone can be bought.”

“Do you think I can be bought?”

“What? No, of course not.” Mike’s brow wrinkled. “But those last guys … I swear Laydon got to them.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t prove it, but …” He stopped abruptly, pressing his mouth into a straight, tight line.

“But what?”

“Never mind. You already think I’m unbalanced.”

Harvey permitted himself a fond smile. “I’ve known that since the day I met you. Doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. You trusted me once, too. So, trust me now, and tell me what’s bothering you. Let me be the judge of whether or not it’s a credible worry.”

Mike leaned into his hands, rubbing his eyes. “It’s just … Andy doesn’t seem as committed to this case as he used to be. He’s been pressuring me to hand it off to another firm and switch my attention to other cases. He …” He looked up, expression wary. “He owns the firm, and he pays my salary. By default, I have to trust him, but …”

“But you don’t.” Harvey had an ugly, alarming thought. “You think Laydon got to him?”

“Not with money. Andy’s loaded. But maybe with threats?”

“Could he have had anything to do with the attack on you and Rachel?”

“I didn’t think so. I suspected he was at least half in love with her. I could almost see him putting a hit on me to get me out of the way. We clashed often enough. But I’d just told him I was thinking of leaving.” He clamped his lips together, cutting his gaze away from Harvey.

With difficulty, Harvey held back the _ah ha!_ which threatened to come flying out of him. Mike had tried to deny it before, had abruptly changed the subject, but now the truth was out, and he couldn’t take it back. Harvey sat back in his chair, and they regarded one another across the expanse of Mike’s desk.

Mike looked away first. “Okay. Yes. It’s true. I’d made up my mind. It wasn’t about Rachel. Well, maybe partly about her, but mostly it was this place. Andy said we’d be managing the firm, Rachel and I, but he had veto power over everything. He rejected at least half the cases I wanted to take on, said they were too small, and I should think bigger. I argued against Laydon, but that was the one he insisted on going forward with. I gradually came to realize it was all about the publicity for him. All of it. Everything. When the verdict came down, he seemed shocked. I swear he was actually angry that we'd won. I just don’t get it. I don’t get _him._ Not like – ” His eyes flashed up at Harvey, and then away again.

“I wish you would have said something, Mike. You know there’s a senior partnership waiting for you at Specter Litt whenever you want it. All you have to do is say the word.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.” Mike let out a slow breath. “Except for one thing. I want to win this appeal, and then I want to get the hell out of this city.”

He hadn’t stated, explicitly, that he intended to return to New York, but where else would he go? Harvey gave Mike a half-smile. “Let’s win it, then. In one piece.”

“What?”

“I’m assuming you want to finish out your time here in one piece, with everything intact?”

“Well, yeah, but –”

“Then you can’t have any objections to spending quality time with Dwayne and Charlie. I promise you, they’ve been thoroughly vetted.”

Still appearing unhappy, Mike gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. You win.”

Telling himself not to gloat – at least not visibly -- Harvey nodded at Mike’s computer. “So, bring me up to speed. Tell me what you’ve found.”

 

******

 

During the next few days, they fell into a routine of sorts. They worked until seven, with Dwayne and Charlie cooling their heels in a corner of the office, reading newspapers, and magazines, and fiddling with their phones. They had to be bored, although they endured stoically. Harvey was paying them enough that he didn’t feel too badly about that.

At seven, they all piled into an armored Range Rover driven by either Dwayne or Charlie, and headed back to the hotel. The bodyguards had taken up residence in the suite’s living room, sleeping in alternating shifts on the remarkably comfortable couch. Harvey nearly blurted out the suggestion that he and Mike share a bed to free up the second bedroom, but after a brief, internal debate, thought better of the idea.

The four of them ate dinner together, usually something ordered from room service. After dinner, Mike holed up in his bedroom and continued working. Harvey allowed this, but if Mike was still at it by eleven, he poked his head into the room and ordered Mike to go to sleep. Surprisingly, Mike never put up a fight, just nodded wearily, closed his laptop, and set it on the night stand. Feeling a bit too parental for his own peace of mind, Harvey turned off the lights and closed the door.

At first, Harvey brought work home as well. As time passed, and Mike’s legal arguments were firmed up, that seemed less and less necessary. In fact, Harvey began to feel less and less necessary in general. Having no wish to sit idle in Mike’s office while he continued to obsessively scour case law and precedent, as if intending to reread every law journal and legal text ever written, Harvey finally inquired about his other cases.

Mike waved a hand dismissively. “Ask Andy. Or Miranda. I’m sure they’d appreciate any help you’re willing to give.”

Harvey did ask Miranda, the end result being that she handed him a stack of draft documents which needed to be proofed. He settled back into Mike’s office, now engaged in work normally assigned to a first year – or an experienced paralegal. He chose to be amused by this turn of events, and really, it was sort of nice not to think too hard for once, or to be sparring with titans of industry, and hostile judges, and his own partners, Louis in particular.

He’d come to Seattle to work, and to help Mike, and he was doing both, but in a way, this felt like the vacation he’d never had time for in all the years since he’d passed the bar. If he could have substituted Mike’s office for a private cabana near the pool or the ocean, and if he could have switched out bitter coffee for ice cold mojitos, it would have been close to perfect. Mike would still be there, of course. In the past year, Harvey had come to understand that nothing meant anything, and life had little flavor without Mike at his side.

Did Mike feel the same way? He didn’t seem to, but Harvey continued to hold onto tenuous hope.

 

******

 

The weekend arrived. After a brief, intense argument, Harvey convinced Mike to stay away from the office for two whole days. He still brought work back to the hotel with him, but Harvey decided to take the win.

Maybe because he didn’t have to be up early the following morning, Mike stuck around after dinner, drinking a beer with Harvey. Dwayne and Charlie declined, stating that they never drank while they were on a job.

“So,” said Mike, gesturing at the bodyguards with his beer bottle, “is it just the two of you? You don’t punch out, call in reinforcements and take a day off?”

“We prefer not to,” Dwayne replied, expression serious. “Especially in a case like yours.”

“Like mine? What does that mean?”

“Just …” Dwayne flicked a glance at Harvey. “As I understand it, there were issues with your previous protection detail.”

“Allegedly,” Harvey interjected.

“Well.” Dwayne frowned. “Mike fired them, so I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt. He needs to trust us for us to do our job. Having new faces appear all the time is not going to accomplish that. Consequently, it’s just the two of us. Is that all right, Mike?”

A shrug. “Sure. As long as you don’t wear yourselves out.” His mouth quirked, as if he’d found something amusing. Harvey guessed he was remembering his own recent experience with wearing himself out.

 

******

 

Harvey woke to the sound of panicked yells. He was up and out of bed in seconds and nearly collided with a gun-toting Dwayne at the doorway to Mike’s bedroom.

“Stand back, Mr. Specter.” He flicked on the light. He and Charlie, also armed, shouldered past Harvey into the room.

On the bed, Mike thrashed, in the grip of a nightmare. “No!” he yelled again, drawing in harsh, ragged breaths.

After determining that no outside threat was present, Dwayne and Charlie threw questioning, sympathetic glances at Harvey.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got this.”

They left, closing the door behind them.

After a moment’s consideration, Harvey moved to the bed and crouched near Mike’s shoulder, placing one hand on his arm and giving it a light shake.

“Mike. Wake up.”

He was about to give Mike another less gentle shake when his eyes flew open and he jackknifed into a sitting position, panting as if he’d been running full out. He squinted as if the light hurt his eyes.

“Harvey?” Mike rubbed his face with one hand, groaning, “Fuck.” As he came more fully awake, he began to look embarrassed. “Sorry. Did I … did I say anything?”

“Not really. Mainly, you were shouting unintelligibly.”

“Oh.” He winced. “That’s so much better. I woke you up, I take it?”

Harvey rose with a crack of both knees and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “What was it about?” he asked, although he knew he had no right.

Mike sighed, not pretending to misunderstand. “The shooting. Another variation on the same theme. This time Rachel had the gun, and she – ” He tightened his jaw, steeling himself to continue. “She kept firing into me, round after round.”

“A variation?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I have the gun. Sometimes it’s Andy. Sometimes you. At least once there was this whole _Reservoir Dogs_ scenario, and we all went down together in a hail of bullets.”

“How often do you have these dreams?”

“Whenever I shut my eyes long enough to sleep.”

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Harvey set a hand on Mike’s leg. “You should have said something.”

“Why? Would that have stopped the dreams?”

“We could have gotten you something to help you sleep. Or …” He paused, unsure whether he should bring it up. This was Mike, though. They knew each other, knew each other’s histories. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”

Mike’s eyebrows lifted. “A therapist?”

“Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’d be more worried if I _wasn’t_ having nightmares.” He caught sight of Harvey’s frown, and answered with one of his own. “Maybe after the hearing, if the dreams haven’t gone away. Right now, there’s no time.”

Harvey might have disputed that. He already seemed about as well prepared as anyone could be. Mike was right, though. Under the circumstances, nightmares were understandable. He could have kicked himself for not anticipating them or noticing sooner the nightly hell Mike had been enduring. He would have liked to crawl into bed with him, to hold him until he slept, and to keep him safe from nightmares. He doubted that would be welcomed. Instead, he asked, “Is it all right if I sit with you until you fall back asleep?”,

Mike gave him a funny look, but then nodded. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

After that this became their habit. Harvey sat in a chair next to the bed, reading the newspaper, checking emails, or proofing documents until Mike’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out. His shouts still roused everyone in the suite from time to time, but he always settled quickly when Harvey appeared at his side, and usually slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

 

******

 

Halfway into Tuesday morning during Harvey’s second week there, Mike’s phone rang. Harvey looked up to find Mike glaring at the screen.

“Who is it?” asked Harvey.

“Laydon’s counsel.”

“Put them on speaker.” Harvey dragged a chair closer to Mike’s desk and took a seat across from him.

Mike pressed the “speaker” button on his phone. “Mike Ross.”

“Ah, hello Mr. Ross. This is Ernest Wainwright, attorney for – ”

“Yes, for Laydon, Inc. I know. What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss a possible settlement.”

“In advance of the appeal hearing?” He exchanged a perplexed look with Harvey. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“To save yourself a public embarrassment. And to help your clients.’

Harvey began to get an inkling where this was headed. He gave Mike a nod, indicating that they should hear Wainwright out.

“We’re listening,” said Mike.

“We?” Amusement threaded his voice.

“My, er, associate is here with me. You’re on speaker.”

Harvey knew that Mike meant “associate” as in, “person who is working with me,” and not, “underling who is working _for_ me,” but he doubted that Wainwright would make that distinction. He didn’t mind. Although he’d been accused often enough of possessing a massive ego, he was happy enough to play second chair to Mike in this instance.

“That’s fine,” said Wainwright. “What I’d like to propose is a stipulated reversal, with payouts reduced to ten percent of the original settlement, which is still a generous amount by anyone’s definition. And finally, all parties agree to sign a nondisclosure agreement.” A pause. “You’ll take the offer to your clients, I assume.”

“As I’m obligated to do.” Mike shot Harvey a complicated look, revealing both anger and uncertainty. “I’ll get back to you.”

“You have until the end of the day.”

Mike hung up on him.

“You see what he’s doing, right?” asked Harvey.

“Of course. This way, he avoids the establishment of new precedent, which could potentially cripple the industry.” He shook his head, expression bitter. “I’ll just bet his competitors have all kicked in to help with their legal expenses.”

“I would, if I were them. That verdict was potentially game changing.”

Mike heaved a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “We’ve got some phone calls to make. I’ll have Miranda email you the back half of the plaintiff list. You know what to say?”

“Not my first rodeo.”

“Right. Just be sure to remind them that if we lose on appeal – which I have no intention of doing, but you never know – they stand to lose everything.”

 

******

 

Harvey was used to dealing with business men and women who viewed the world through a lens which could be labeled “the bottom line.” He might have been shocked by the responses he got, but he could understand their viewpoint. Every single one of the plaintiffs informed him, with variations of anger, solemnity and a grim sort of dignity, that they didn’t give a damn about the settlement, and absolutely did not want the verdict reversed. Mike had said they stood to lose everything, but for more than a few of them, that had already happened during the shooting.

Mike’s calls had evidently yielded the same result. At quarter to five, he called Wainwright back and rejected the deal.

Wainwright let out a disappointed sounding sigh. “Too bad. It’s your funeral.”

“Hey,” said Harvey, moving closer to the phone, “what the hell is that supposed to mean? That sounded like a threat to me.”

“Just a figure of speech.”

Mike placed a hand on Harvey’s arm, and shook his head at him, stopping the angry words that had been about to spill out of his mouth,

“We’ll see you in court,” said Mike, voice mild. He hung up the phone and looked over at Harvey. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just trying to get inside my head.”

“Did it work?”

Mike gave a scoffing laugh. “Not likely. It’s already pretty full up there.”

“With what?” Harvey asked, curious. He regretted the question as soon as he saw the closed off expression on Mike’s face.

Mike shrugged. “The case. You.” An embarrassed laugh. “What I’m going to do after the case is over.”

_You._

Harvey ignored the punch of giddy hope this admission brought.

“Any thoughts on that last one?”

A slow headshake from Mike. “No. Except I already know I won’t stay here. How can I?  I had to come back to see this case through to its conclusion, but afterwards …” He stared down at the desktop, lips pressed together. “The apartment is already for sale. I’m told it’s a hot real estate market around here, so it should sell pretty quick. Then … maybe I’ll throw dart at a map and let fate decide.”

Part of Harvey hated that idea. Another part of him wanted to beg Mike to let him join him, to be Thelma to his Louise. “Well,” he said, “maybe we’ll get lucky, and the dart will land on Manhattan.”

Then, to stave off what he assumed would be Mike’s rejection of that suggestion, he quickly added, “But why stay here any longer than you have to? You’ve got your arguments for the appeal all laid out. Another attorney could deliver them for you, and probably do just about as good a job. Tell Forsyth you’re done. Get on a plane with me now. Or we could get in a car and just drive. We don’t have to go home yet. Louis isn’t expecting me back for a few months.”

He pressed his lips together, having shocked himself – and Mike, it seemed – by the passion of his plea. Instead of agreeing, or rejecting Harvey’s suggestion, Mike responded by avoiding eye contact, shaking his head and half-smiling, as if Harvey had just made a not terribly amusing joke.

A few, awkward seconds passed, and then Harvey steered the conversation back into safer territory. “Wainwright took a gamble, didn’t he? Now we know how little confidence he has in his ability to win the appeal. So, do we change our own strategy to reflect that?”

Mike’s eyes went icy as he finally looked directly at Harvey. “No. Same strategy as before: go for the jugular and take no prisoners.”

 

******

 

“I was right,” Mike said a week later. “I already have a buyer for the apartment. My realtor tells me we had a three-way bidding war. Apparently, I’ll be turning a nice profit on the place.”

“Congratulations.”

“The only complication is, I need to get it cleared out by the end of the week.”

“I’ll help you.”

Mike gave him a long look. “That’s not necessary. I thought I’d hire people to pack up our stuff and sell it.” A spasm of grief crossed his face and was gone. “I should probably go through it first, to see if there’s anything I want to keep.”

“Dwayne and Charlie will go with you.”

Mike opened his mouth to object.

“Non-negotiable.”

An annoyed sigh. “Fine. You might as well come too, then. Why break up the foursome? We’re kind of a matched set.”

 

******

 

It was a gorgeous, cloudless Saturday in September when Mike and Harvey made their visit to the apartment.  Dwayne and Charlie drove them there, and they parked half a block away. Dwayne stayed with the vehicle while the rest of them entered the building, each carrying an armful of flattened boxes.

On the sixteenth floor, Mike fumbled his key from his pocket, but Charlie pried it away from him and stepped in front of him to insert the key in the lock and push the door open. From behind, Harvey saw him freeze, his whole body going rigid.

Mike must have had a clearer view into the apartment than Harvey. “Shit,” he whispered. The boxes slid from his arms to the floor.

“Stay here,” ordered Charlie. He sidestepped into the apartment, gun in hand.

Harvey edged into the doorway beside Mike to get his first look inside. Instant dread gripped him. It looked as if a tornado or hurricane had slammed through the apartment, lifted every single item, including the heavy pieces of furniture, and scattered them into a chaotic jumble. No pictures remained on the wall. No dish remained in the cupboards. Anything breakable had been smashed. Clothes, removed from the closet and dresser drawers, lay in untidy piles in the living room. As Harvey took an involuntary step forward, he could see that some unknown liquid had been poured over the clothes.

Charlie returned from searching the other rooms. “It’s clear,” he said. “Whoever did this is gone.” He’d holstered his gun and had his phone out. “I’ll call the police.”

Mike let out a strangled laugh. “I guess this saves us the trouble of packing.”

Observing him, Harvey wished he had the right – or the courage – to gather him up for a hug. He looked like he badly needed one. “You should at least do a walkthrough. There could still be something worth salvaging.”

Mike shook his head, as stubborn as ever. “No. I mean, maybe if I wanted to preserve something from our life here, but I just realized that’s the last thing I want. I’ll hire someone to come clear this out, and get it cleaned. Do you think Vanessa knows anyone like that?”

“Of course. I’ll take care of it.”

Charlie spoke up. “The police are on the way.”

“Why bother with them?” asked Mike. “What’s the point?”

“You need to get this on the record.”

Harvey thought Mike might put up a fight, but after a few seconds, his shoulders slumped, and he nodded once. “Fine. Let’s go through the motions.”

 

******

 

Four hours later, they were back at the hotel. Beyond giving his statement – several times – to the police, Mike hadn’t spoken again. He went straight for the minibar, grabbed a handful of tiny bottles of alcohol, seemingly at random, and retreated to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Harvey exchanged a look with Dwayne and Charlie.

“Any thoughts?” he asked them.

The police theory was random, malicious mischief, but nothing to be overly concerned about. Once they’d learned that the apartment had been unoccupied for a few weeks, that had cemented the theory.

“If Mike is correct,” answered Dwayne, “and nothing was missing – ”

“He’s right,” Harvey interrupted. He waved a hand near his temple. “He’s got this memory thing. If he says everything was still there – even in pieces – then everything was there.”

“Okay. I’d say this sort of thing is a typical intimidation tactic, but the, er, comprehensive nature of the damage seems to indict something more along the lines of unchecked rage. Like it’s personal.”

“You mean, it was either someone hired by Laydon, or …”

“Or some random, pissed off individual who sees Mike and his case as a threat.”

Harvey opened the minibar, grateful to see that Mike had left a few bottles for him. He grabbed two Bacardis and one Hennessy, and collapsed onto a chair. “You think it was another one of those second amendment freaks, like the one that shot Mike and Rachel?”

“Why freaks?” asked Charlie. His expression remained neutral, but his challenging tone of voice alerted Harvey. His gaze slid involuntarily to Charlie’s holstered weapon.

“Look, no offense intended.”

“Not everyone who believes in the second amendment is a freak, Harvey.”

“No. I get that. That’s not what I meant.”

“You seem okay with the protection our guns provide to Mike. And you.”

Harvey yanked the top off one of the Bacardis and downed it in a single swallow. “I realize that self-righteous, moral outrage has become the national blood sport of choice, but if you think you’re going to draw me into a pointless argument, forget it.”

He tossed back the second Bacardi. “For the record, I’m okay with the Constitution and all of the amendments, including number two. I’m a gun owner myself.” The Hennessy went down without him even tasting it. “What I’m not okay with is my friend being shot, threatened, and intimidated. I’m not okay with political, or ideological or … whatever …. With differences of opinion which once upon a time could have been debated in a civil manner by reasonable people, becoming the excuse for …” He waved a hand around, indicating the room, and the suite, and the entire city. “For … for all this unfettered bullshit.”

Harvey shook his head, choked with frustration. Something occurred to him, and his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Charlie, Dwayne, does this case Mike and I are working on bother you? Are you on Laydon’s side in all this? And if so, will you be able to properly protect Mike if it ever comes to that?”

“Short answer? Yes. Absolutely.”

“But it’s just a job to you.”

Dwayne said, “We like Mike. Charlie may have some issues with the case against Laydon, but I know my partner. We’d both take a bullet for Mike, and not just because you’re paying us.”

Harvey frowned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” His eyes narrowed. “Hey. Would you take a bullet for me?”

Dwayne held his hand out, palm down, and waggled it back and forth. “Maybe. If your check hasn’t cleared yet.”

“I already wired you your fee.”

“Then there’s your answer. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Well, not much.

 

******

 

Around dinnertime, Harvey knocked on Mike’s door. He got no answer. After knocking again, he cracked the door open. The lights were off, and the curtains drawn, but he could make out the shape of Mike in the bed, huddled underneath the comforter, with his back to the door.

“Mike? You awake? We’re about to order dinner.”

No reply.

“How about if I get you one of those cheeseburgers you like so much. With the banana peppers and barbeque – ”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat something. That’s the deal.”

The comforter shifted and readjusted itself. Seconds later, Mike’s head emerged, followed by his shoulders. He sat up against the headboard. “I know who trashed my place.”

Annoyance warred with confusion inside Harvey. “Why didn’t you say something to the police?”

As if he hadn’t heard him, Mike continued, “And I lied to you, and Dwayne and Charlie.”

Harvey closed the door and leaned against it. “What about?”

“There was something missing. One item.” He glanced at the row of empty bottles on the nightstand and sighed. “It was a photograph.”

Harvey waited a few seconds, and then prompted, “Of ….?”

“Of Rachel and Andy. I took it at the holiday party last year. He had his arm around her. They were both smiling ….” He sighed. “God, I need a drink.”

“I’ll order you up a bottle of whatever you want, after you eat dinner. Right now, tell me more about this picture.”

After taking a moment to wedge a pillow behind his back, Mike said, “He wanted it. Andy wanted it. We had him over to dinner a few months ago, and he couldn’t take his eyes off that damn picture. I might have given it to him, but he was being so weird about it. I finally got him to shut up about it by promising to have a copy made for him. And now it’s gone. Every other photograph in the place was torn or left on the floor. That one, though …”

“So, you think Andy broke into your place just to get that photo?”

“No. I think he hired people to trash it, to convince me to drop the case, and then came over to check their work.” He gave a bitter laugh. “That’s the kind of boss he is. Controlling. Condescending.”

“I’ll ask again: why didn’t you mention this to the police?”

“Do you think they’d even believe me? It sounds nuts even to me.”

Harvey paced the length of the room, and back again. “Do you want me to punch his lights outs?”

Mike let out a reluctant sounding laugh. “Tempting, but no.”

“The offer stands, if you change your mind. So, what is the plan?”

“For one thing, I’m not going back to the office. Miranda can arrange to send us everything we need, and we can work from here.”

“You’re not dropping the case?”

“Hell, no. I’m going to win, and then I’m going to do a victory lap, and shove Forsyth’s stupid, lying face in it.”

Harvey nodded approvingly. “Sounds like a plan.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

A week before the hearing, protestors took up positions outside their hotel. With each passing day, their numbers increased, along with the number of media outlets covering them. Their numbers seemed about evenly split between those that opposed what Mike was doing, and those that supported him. Hotel security couldn’t do much beyond move them off hotel property and onto the sidewalk. After one minor clash broke out between factions, the police were called in to ensure that the two groups were kept separated.

Harvey and Mike, along with their bodyguards, had been holed up in their room since the visit to Mike's apartment, and only found out about the protestors when the hotel manager arrived at their door to politely request that they find another place to stay. They (Harvey) politely replied that he could take a flying leap, and shut the door in his face.

“How the hell did they find out where Mike is staying?” asked Harvey, moving to the window. He couldn’t see the sidewalk from here, but now that he knew the crowds were down there, he imagined he could hear the angry chanting.

Dwayne shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret. Anyone on the hotel staff could have leaked it. Someone could have followed us from Mike’s office.”

“Weren’t you supposed to prevent that?”

“We can only do so much.”

“Evidently.” Harvey paced in front of the window, trying without success to hold onto his temper.

Charlie spoke up. “I don’t think Mike’s in any danger here. Any additional danger, that is. The crowd downstairs is more of an inconvenience than anything else, but if Mike wants, we can always arrange to have him moved to a safe house.”

“No.” This, from Mike, who was slumped in one of the armchairs. “If anyone else wants to take a shot at me, let them do it out in the open, in front of the crowds and the cameras.”

“Oh, so now you want to be a martyr?” asked Harvey before he thought better of it. The martyr ship had already sailed when Rachel died.

Mike let out an inelegant snort. “Jesus. When did you become so timid? Where’s the old Harvey I used to know?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m talking about the guy who never backed down from a fight. The guy who started the fight, if it would help his case. The guy who launched himself at Tanner, and Louis, and Gallo, without an instant of hesitation.”

“To be fair, I did hesitate with Louis.”

Mike stared at him, and then unexpectedly burst out laughing. “Well, he does have the power of mud on his side.”

Harvey halted his pacing midstride. He couldn’t take his eyes off Mike. The sound of his unrestrained laughter, and the sight of his wide uncomplicated grin caused Harvey’s heart to constrict with both grief and joy. He’d missed this. The thought of some idiot with a gun taking it away from him filled him with such deep fear and foreboding that for a moment he found it difficult to breathe.

“Who is Louis?” asked Dwayne, at the same time that Charlie said, “What the hell is the power of mud?”

Mike only laughed louder, a touch of hysteria creeping in.

“If you’re lucky,” said Harvey drily, “you’ll never find out.”

Gradually, Mike subsided. As the laughter died, a wistful smile remained on his face. “God, I miss Louis. How is he these days?”

“Since I left him in charge, he’s probably either flourishing as he comes into his own, or – ”

“Or,” Mike finished for him, “the firm has burned to the ground and zombie cannibals roam the smoldering ruins.”

“And wolves.”

“Goes without saying.”

Their gazes locked and held. Harvey couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and neither could Mike. Dwayne and Charlie may as well have been invisible for those few seconds of perfect accord. It felt as if all of the lonely months had melted away, as if the world turned smoothly on its axis once more, and the planets and stars were all in miraculous alignment. Then Mike looked away and his smile faded.

“Anyway. I should go over my brief one more time.”

Harvey wrestled down his disappointment and tried to focus on the positive. Mike’s numbness seemed to be wearing off. That was a good sign. They’d shared a moment which had felt like the old days. With any luck, there would be more of those. And maybe a few moments could stretch into something deeper and more lasting. Patience was required, but Harvey had grown skilled at that. He’d already been waiting for over eight years.

 

******

 

Mike reviewed his brief and his oral argument over and over, refining them, asking for Harvey’s opinions, and refining some more. He seemed determined to leave nothing to chance. No matter how often or how vehemently Harvey assured him that he was ready, and that everything was as tight and perfect as it could be, he continued his dogged work.

It was just as well that Mike had something to keep him occupied. Otherwise, he might have been as bored as Harvey was, and as Dwayne and Charlie appeared to be. You could only watch so many movies, and episodes of television, could only puzzle out so many Sudoku games or read so many magazines and novels.

In between conferring with Mike, Harvey fired up his own laptop to check emails from home. If anything seemed pressing he forwarded it to Louis or Donna. In one or two cases, he handled the issue himself, tamping down his irritation. Before he powered down, he changed his out-of-office message to state that he WOULD NOT be answering emails, and supplying alternate email addresses.

He felt only the slightest temptation to call Louis and ask him how things were going. He resisted. It felt good to cut himself off from the day-to-day worries and stress of life at Specter & Litt. This would feel like a legitimate vacation if he could do the same with Forsyth & Associates. The appeal hearing was next Monday. Maybe after that ….

Maybe.

His life was a frustrating tangle of “maybes.” Nothing felt certain. He was already doing everything within his power to change that, but there was no more that he could do. That realization scared him almost as much as the possibility of Mike being shot again. Growing restless as the morning wore on, he finally put on a pair of shoes and grabbed his wallet.

“I’m going for a walk,” he informed Dwayne and Charlie.

“You want one of us to come with you?”

“No. Stay here and keep an eye on Mike. As far as we know, I’m still flying under the radar with the loonies -- no offense, Charlie.”

“None taken.”

“Anyway, I doubt that anyone will bother me.” He wanted to see more of the city than he’d managed so far in the three weeks he’d been here. “I’ll pick something up for dinner on my way back. Is there anything good in walking distance?”

Dwayne gave him the names and locations of a few places that sounded promising, and Harvey made his escape. Mike’s door was closed, so he left without telling him goodbye.

 

******

 

Harvey had been right about the protestors. When he emerged from the front door of the hotel, all faces turned his way and then immediately away again when it became clear he wasn't the prey they sought. Still, he didn't stick around, unless some extra diligent reporter with facial recognition software made the connection between Harvey and Mike. He hurried away, choosing his direction at random.

During his weeks in Seattle, he hadn't done much exploring of the city. He's spent most of his time either at Mike's firm or at the hotel, and although they were located just five blocks from one another, out of safety concerns the trip had always been made by car. During those brief trips, he'd taken note of the size of the downtown core, which was surprisingly small when compared to Manhattan.

Now, as he strode down the sidewalk, making a left turn and heading west toward the water, he became aware of how hilly the city was. He recalled an amusing email from Mike last winter about the locals' near-hysteria over a few inches of snow. At the time, he'd laughed and shook his head, but now, he understood. Driving down some of these hills in even a light coating of frost could be treacherous.

Today was another perfect fall day, without even a hint of frost or snow in the forecast, and he enjoyed stretching his legs and working up a slight sweat on the challenging terrain. He hadn't had a serious workout since he got here, which might have had something to do with how short his temper had grown over the last few days. Plus, being cooped up with the same three people, two of whom he barely knew, hadn't helped matters any.

He followed University Street down until he ran into a broad concrete stairway with a series of fountains arrayed down the center. Office workers on their lunch break lounged on the steps, and a street performer played a guitar and rasped out a song of pain and longing.

Harvey kept heading down. He could see the waterfront straight ahead, could smell saltwater mixed with the faintest hint of diesel. Two green and white ferries glided across the surface of Puget Sound, one arriving and one departing. He briefly toyed with the idea of boarding a ferry and riding it to wherever it took him, or buying an ice cream cone and strolling along the water, idly window shopping. He could buy tacky t-shirts displaying the Space Needle, one for himself and one for Mike.

Throngs of tourists and office workers surged around him, drawn outside by the warm weather and pulling him along in their gravitational fields. For several minutes, he allowed himself to smile like they did, to laugh for no particular reason, to enjoy the simple pleasure of cloudless blue sky and sunshine warming his skin.

Then he remembered Mike, and the case, and began to imagine how different the scene would be if a stranger with a gun chose this moment to go to war with his or her own insecurities, or xenophobia, or homophobia, or if some deranged fool decided that mass carnage was the only solution to a life and a world that didn’t line up with their selfish requirements.

Screams. Blood. Panic. A perfect day destroyed, and lives changed forever.

That ice cream cone did not sound so appealing anymore. Neither did an aimless ferry ride to parts unknown. He pivoted abruptly, nearly colliding with an elderly couple wearing matching chihuahua t-shirts, and headed back up the wide concrete stairs.

 

******

 

Harvey detoured around the hotel and the protestors, and kept walking the five blocks to the office tower where Forsyth & Associates was located. He rode the elevator up, ignored the surprised stare of the receptionist, and made straight for Andy Forsyth’s office, where he also ignored the secretary who guarded the door, much as Donna had used to guard Harvey’s. He barreled into a meeting between Forsyth and Ernest Wainwright, counsel for Laydon, Inc.

Forsyth surged to his feet, a look of alarm on his face. “Harvey. What the hell?”

Glancing coolly between Forsyth and Wainwright, Harvey drawled, “Well, shit. Doesn’t this look cozy? I came here to ask you a question, but this little scene raises several more.”

Forsyth and Wainwright exchanged a look, and then Wainwright stood. “Thanks for meeting with me, Andy. I’ll expect an answer from you before Friday. I’ll see myself out.” He gave Harvey a swift, curious glance before striding out of the office.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Harvey when he was alone with Forsyth.

“Ernest Wainwright is the attorney for – ”

“I know who he works for. What the hell are you doing meeting with him behind Mike’s back?”

“Sit down, Harvey.”

He gave Forsyth an incredulous glare and continued to prowl around the office, too angry to remain still. “What was the offer this time? Ten cents on the dollar in exchange for pretending Laydon, Inc. isn’t a conscienceless, death-dealing piece of shit?”

Andrew Forsyth could have given Daniel Hardman a run for his money in the fake-guileless, smarmy looks department. “A corporation can’t have a conscience, Harvey. Surely you of all people know that?”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve come to expect this sort of naïve handwringing from Mike, but I’d assumed you were made of sterner stuff.”

Harvey curled his hands into fists and wondered how much effort it would require to hurl Forsyth through the nearest window. When he could trust himself to speak calmly again, he said, “The clients turned down Wainwright’s last offer. They’ll turn down this new one.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

The smug look on Forsyth’s face alerted him. Reluctantly, Harvey asked, “What did they offer?”

“The same deal he offered Mike, with one addition. Using the other half of the original settlement money, Laydon will fund and lobby for national gun control legislation, including a ban on bump stocks.” When Harvey didn’t immediately respond, Forsyth’s grin widened and he added, “I know I’d agree to that if I were one of the clients. I’m betting even Mike will get on board with it.”

Harvey couldn’t help but feel a certain grudging admiration for Ernest Wainwright. Everyone got what they wanted. Except Mike. Despite Forsyth’s prediction, Harvey doubted he would be pleased with this deal. He tended to make his cases personal, and with the murder of Rachel, and his own near-death experience, this one was as personal as it got. “You’re wrong about Mike,” he finally said, “and if anyone can talk the clients out of it, it’s him.”

“Then what I need you to do is convince him to go along with it,” said Forsyth in a voice gone suddenly hard.

Harvey’ eyes narrowed. “That almost sounded like a threat.”

“I wouldn’t want to see Mike get hurt.”

“Again, you mean.”

“Sure. Again. He’s past listening to me, but something tells me he’ll listen to you.”

“Maybe, but I’m not in the habit of handing out bad advice. He’s obviously ruffled some feathers. That just means he’s succeeding.”

Something ugly glinted in Forsyth’s eyes. “Press until it hurts, right? That’s what you taught him.” He laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. He loves to quote his little ‘Harveyisms,’ as he calls them. My favorite is the one about the gun to the head. Rather apropos, don’t you think?”

As anger churned in his gut, Harvey sized up his target. He waited a beat and then asked, “After their divorce, did you intend to make a play for Rachel?”

Forsyth almost, but not quite, managed to disguise his twitch of surprise. “Divorce?” he asked, all innocence. “This is news to me.”

“Where is the photo you took from their apartment? If I checked your desk drawers would I find it there? Or maybe it’s at home on your nightstand, next to the fleshlight and a box of tissues?”

Forsyth went completely still but, tellingly, did not deny the accusation. “Mike never deserved her. It’s his fault she’s dead. He refused to accept protection, and when it came down to it, he couldn’t protect her himself. He never should have taken the case, he never should have trotted her out in front of the cameras on cable news every night, and he should have dropped the case after the shooting. That would have been the decent thing to do. I don’t know if he was born this obstinate, or if this is more of your influence. Whatever the case, if you care about him at all, you’ll tell him to accept the deal and get out of town.”

“You know, I’d love to see him take this all the way to the Supreme Court.” Harvey was arguing for the sake of arguing at this point. He’d just as soon Mike take the deal as well.

Forsyth let out a scoffing laugh that jangled Harvey’s nerves. “If they even agree to hear it. If they did, you know as well as I do that with the court’s current makeup, no way would Mike win that appeal. Just imagine how crushed he would be. That could be the thing that pushes him right over the edge, as unstable as he’s been lately. This way, he gets to bow out gracefully and call it a victory. This country hasn’t had any meaningful gun legislation on a national level for a quarter of a century. Maybe we could add a stipulation that they name it ‘Rachel’s Law.’ Do you think Mike would like that?”

“Goddamn it, Forsyth.”

Harvey’s step toward Forsyth’s desk must have looked more threatening than he’d intended. Forsyth shoved his chair back, eyes wide with barely disguised fear. He held up his hands, as if to push Harvey away. “Okay, that was uncalled for, I’ll admit. How about we just walk this back a little? There is an offer on the table which, emotions aside, is the best possible outcome for the clients and for Mike, if he’ll only look at it rationally.”

 _Emotion aside?_ Didn’t Forsyth know Mike at all, after a year together? Still, he was right, damn him. The deal would do more to advance the issue of gun control than punishing the manufacturers. It had the added benefit of removing Mike from harm’s way.

With an effort which felt Herculean, Harvey pushed down the considerable animosity he felt for Andy Forsyth and nodded slowly. “All right. Fine. For Mike’s sake, I’ll talk to him. I don’t know what the outcome of that conversation will be, but I’ll do my best to convince him. In return, I want you to release him from his contract with six months’ severance pay.”

He’d expected an argument, or at least another bout of mocking laughter, but Forsyth didn’t hesitate to nod his agreement. “Done.

Harvey should have felt relief. Why, then, did he feel as if he had just betrayed Mike in the worst possible way?

 

******

 

By the time Harvey made it back to the hotel, it was late afternoon. The protestors had thinned to a mere handful. Either the others had taken a break for dinner, or word had already gotten out that protests were no longer required. It had to be the former, but it reassured him somewhat that he had made the right decision. Once the deal went public, the circus would fold its tents and disappear.

After leaving Forsyth’s office, he’d stopped for a drink – three drinks – but hadn’t managed to drown the simmering anger and guilt inside him. He’d returned without the promised food. Dwayne and Charlie each gave him an odd look, but only asked him what he would like from room service. Mike stared at him with more interest than he’d shown since Harvey had returned to Seattle, watching as he removed his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

“Where’d you go?” Mike asked, a bit too casually.

“For a walk.”

“Long walk.”

“Yeah. About that … Could we go to your room and talk for a few minutes?”

More staring from Mike. “Okay. Sure.” He stood up and led the way. Harvey shut the door behind them and turned to face Mike, who didn’t look suspicious, exactly, just … expectant.

Harvey sucked in a breath, searching for the right words. “Mike, I didn’t just go for a walk. I went to see Andy Forsyth.”

Mike shifted his weight and tilted his head to one side. “Andy? Why’d you do that?”

“I went to get answers about … I don’t even know anymore. About his motives, and his involvement in the campaign of harassment against you. I intended to do whatever I could to get him to back off, and let the hearing proceed to whatever conclusion it would.”

“I see.” Mike’s features tightened minutely. “Actually, no. I don’t see. Had he contacted you? Made threats?”

“No, but – ”

“Then why go there?”

“Look, let’s set that aside for now. It’s not important anymore. I have new information I need to pass on. There’s another offer on the table from Wainwright.”

Mike spun away from him, showing Harvey his tense, ramrod straight back. “If you told Forsyth anything besides ‘go fuck yourself – “

“Just listen to me.”

The only sound from Mike was his harsh, uneven breathing.

“It’s the same offer as before, with one significant difference. Half the settlement money will be earmarked for lobbying in D.C., for the purpose of passing gun control legislation, starting with a nationwide ban on bump stocks.”

Harvey knew Mike had heard him, but he still hadn’t moved, not even a twitch.

“I think this is the best possible outcome, Mike. Even if you win this first appeal, you know there will be others, and you’ll ultimately lose in front of the Supreme Court.”

“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Punishing a single gun manufacturer won’t have the same impact as passing new laws. You know that as well as I do.”

“A single manufacturer? I’m establishing precedent. This could change everything.”

“How? It won’t stop guns from being made. Even if it did, even if you managed to place a hundred-year moratorium on gun manufacturing in the United States, we’re already wading hip deep in the things. There are more guns than people. This lawsuit, which is eating you up, and putting you in danger – which killed your wife and damn near killed you – was doomed right from the start. Forsyth should have told you that.”

“Oh, he did,” said Mike bitterly.

“And you did what you’ve done so many times before. You ignored him and did whatever the hell you wanted regardless of who you might hurt.”

“That’s not true.”

“Tell that to Rachel. Oh, wait. I guess it’s too late for that.”

The color seemed to drain from Mike’s already pale face. “That was low, even for you.”

Harvey knew he was right. Speaking the words out loud made him sick, but he refused to back down. There would be time later for apologies and amends. “Take the deal. Or rather, take it gracefully, because I guarantee that Forsyth will make you take it.”

“He can’t do that. It’s my case.” Mike sounded less certain than he had a minute ago.

“It’s his firm, and he pays your salary.” Harvey braced himself for what he had to tell Mike next. “Or rather, he did. You’re no longer employed there. However, I managed to negotiate a generous severance package for you. Between that, and the sale of the apartment – ”

“You negotiated? You? Who the fuck asked you? Who asked you to charge out here and stick your goddamn nose in my business? Why would you even do that? I mean, who does that? What is wrong with you?”

“Mike …” For once, words failed Harvey. He’d come because Mike needed him, and because he needed to make sure that Mike was okay.

Because he loved Mike.

Fat chance of convincing him of that now.

Mike, continued to rage at him. “I thought you were supposed to be my friend. Friends don’t stab each other in the back like this. What happened to that finely tuned sense of loyalty you were always so proud of? How could you do this to me?”

“Mike, if you’ll just take a step back –”

“Back? You want to go back? How far? To New York? To working at your firm? Or maybe even farther, to when I was a pot smoking screwup and you could have said no to me at the Chilton, instead ruining both our lives. Would that be far enough for you? Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

A wave of exhaustion caught Harvey off guard. He leaned back against the door to remain upright. “I’ve said everything on the subject that I intend to say. Once you’ve had a chance to calm down and think this over rationally, I believe you’ll agree that it’s for the best.”

Mike shook his head slowly back and forth. “Get out.”

Harvey reached behind him for the doorknob. “Fine. I’ll go check on dinner.”

“No. You’ve misunderstood me. I meant get out of my life. I’ve had enough. Every time I turn around, there you are, staring at me like you want to dissect my brain. I’m sick of it. Sick of you. Go home. I’m not –” He stopped abruptly, seemed to think about what he’d been about to say, and then continued more quietly, “I can’t be who you want me to be. Just … go home and live your own life.”

“What – ” Harvey swallowed painfully and tried again. “What is it you think I want you to be?”

Had Mike guessed how he felt? He wouldn’t meet Harvey’s searching gaze, and turned away, mouth set in a stubborn line.

Harvey sighed wearily. “Fine. I’ll check with the front desk to see if they have a free room.”

“Take Dwayne and Charlie with you.”

“No way. Until the case is officially over, they stay with you.”

 After that, Mike refused to say more. He looked as angry as Harvey had ever seen him. Feeling ill at what had just happened, Harvey let himself out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

He packed his things, told Dwayne and Charlie to stay with Mike, no matter what he might say, and slipped out of the room.

 

******

 

Harvey’s new room on the third floor didn’t have the sweeping views the suite had, but he was close enough to street level to keep an eye on the groups of protestors in front of the hotel. Apparently, their dinner break was over, and they’d returned in even greater numbers. Competing bullhorns blared at one another, carrying angrily up to his room. He felt a headache bearing down on him and raided the mini bar for sufficient quantities of alcohol to drown out the pain.

An hour later, he was drunk enough to believe it would a good idea to call Mike and continue their argument. He dialed his cell phone, which rang and rang and went to voicemail. Grumbling, he searched his contacts for the number of one of the bodyguards. Before he was able to place the call, someone knocked on the door.

He lurched to his feet, stumbled to the door and yanked it open. Charlie filled the doorway.

“Tell Mike to come to the door,” he said, not sounding happy.

“Mike? He’s not here.”

“Shit.” Charlie had his phone out, presumably calling Dwayne. This was confirmed when he said, “He’s not here. Did he come back to the suite?”

Confused, alarmed, and sobering rapidly, Harvey tried to make sense of what had happened. “You lost Mike?”

“Stay put,” Charlie ordered, pivoting on one heel and heading back to the elevator.

Harvey was out the door, right behind him. “Goddamn it. You were supposed to be watching him. How the hell did you lose him?”

The elevator door slid open and Harvey followed Charlie into the empty car. “I’m going to need you to calm down, Harvey.”

“What am I paying you for? I swear to God, if anything happens to him …”

They’d reached the lobby, which was in a state of calmness and normality completely out of sync with Harvey’s rising panic and erratically racing heart. Moving more quickly than Charlie, he jogged through the sliding front doors and stood in the entranceway, scanning the sidewalk and street in either direction. Pedestrians walked sedately past, unperturbed by his agitation. Rush hour inched past on Sixth Avenue. One of the protestors screamed about libtards and traitors. The opposing group may have answered in kind, but Harvey didn’t hear them.

The world went cold and silent, except for the accelerating thud of his heart, and the sound of Charlie barking instructions and information into his phone. Through the constriction in his throat, Harvey somehow managed to rasp, “Where’d he go? What happened to him?”

Charlie kept one wary eye on him, but continued his conversation with Dwayne, or whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Harvey grabbed his bicep, fingers digging in with a bit too much force. “Where the hell is Mike?”

Charlie pulled the phone away from his ear. “He’s gone, Harvey. Mike’s gone.”


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few hours, Dwayne and Charlie continued to operate on the assumption that Mike had taken a page from Harvey’s book and simply gone for a long walk. Harvey nodded his agreement, but deep down he knew better, and he grew increasingly filled with an overwhelming conviction that Mike was moving further away from him while they did nothing.

While they waited for Mike to return, Harvey grilled the bodyguards to determine how Mike had managed to slip away from them. Evidently Mike had waited until Dwayne disappeared into the bathroom carrying his big book of crossword puzzles, and then asked Charlie to check out something suspicious he’d seen in Harvey’s recently vacated room.

While both men had been distracted, Mike made his escape with only his phone and wallet and the clothes he was wearing.

After two hours had passed, Harvey called Andy Forsyth, who confirmed that Mike had not shown up at the office.

It was Charlie’s idea to track Mike’s cell phone. Harvey might have thought of it himself if he hadn’t been teetering on the edge of his first panic attack in over a year. This turned out to be mostly a dead end. Mike had turned the phone off, but not before it pinged a cell tower on the northern edge of the city.

If Mike was taking a walk, he was moving at superhuman speeds.

“He could be on a bus,” Dwayne said. “More likely he’s in a cab, or an Uber. If they picked him up in front of the hotel, maybe one of the doormen remember seeing him.”

None of them did, but one mentioned the security cameras which monitored the lobby and all the entrances and exits. Frustration mounted when they were told they’d have to wait until the following morning to gain permission from the hotel manager to be allowed access to the video files. It was nearing midnight by now, so they returned to the suite to get what sleep they could – none, in Harvey’s case.

The next morning, with permission reluctantly granted by a suspicious hotel manager, they examined the footage. Dwayne and Charlie were experts at this, and it wasn’t long before they’d determined that Mike had left the hotel through a side door – probably to avoid the protestors – and had been picked up by a Far West taxi. Armed with the plate number of the vehicle, they contacted the cab company, who passed along the information they needed with little fuss.

Mike had made two stops. One, at an ATM three blocks from the hotel, and the second at a car rental place in north Seattle.

“Shit.” Harvey rested his forehead on his fist and allowed himself to succumb, for the space of several seconds, to the sense of panic and doom he’d been fighting the entire night. “He could be anywhere by now.”

Dwayne and Charlie exchanged a look. They were back in the suite, with the remains of breakfast scattered across the table around which they sat. Harvey had stuck to black coffee, not sure he could keep anything else down.

 “We do have some other avenues of inquiry available to us,” said Charlie, “but they’re outside the scope of what you hired us for.”

“And? What’s the problem? Are these legal avenues you’re talking about?”

“We’re not cops, or FBI, or anything else official. That gives us the advantage of not requiring warrants, but it also means we don’t have any real authority to insist on what we need.”

“And what is it that you need?”

“The rental car should have a GPS locator. We can track Mike using that. Also, if we had access to his bank accounts, or charge and debit card accounts, we could monitor his purchases, which would effectively track his movements.”

“So? Do that. Do those things.” Harvey stared at one and then the other of them. “What are you waiting for?”

“We, uh, are concerned that the sort of things you’re asking for might cost us our business license.”

“Oh, for – Fine. Go. We’re done. E-mail me your final bill.”

Harvey waited while they packed up their things, and then walked them to the door, barely restraining himself from telling them, “Good job losing Mike,” or something equally bitter.

Alone, he picked up his phone and called Vanessa.

 

******

 

While Harvey waited for Vanessa to get back to him, hopefully with something helpful, he turned on CNN. The urgent red caption declaring “BREAKING NEWS” immediately caught his attention. A press conference was being conducted in front of the hotel, featuring Andy Forsyth, Ernst Wainwright, and a man who Harvey recognized as the CEO of Laydon Inc.

As they announced the deal that had been reached, a ragged cheer went up from half the protestors, while the other half growled and booed their displeasure. The press in attendance were allowed to ask questions, all of which sounded similar to one another. Each local station or national network wanted a pithy soundbite to broadcast once or twice every hour.

Finally, someone asked where Mike Ross was. Forsyth chuckled and said that he was off on a well-deserved vacation.

The phone rang. A glance at the screen told him it was Vanessa. He snatched it up and answered the call. “What have you got for me?”

“He drove the rental car north and west to the Anacortes ferry terminal and left it in the lot.”

“Ferry terminal? Where the hell is Anacortes?”

“About a two-hour drive from Seattle. Like I said, north and then west.”

“So, he must have boarded the ferry. Where would that have taken him?”

“Either one of four islands, or …"

“Or what?”

“Or Canada.”

“Well, shit.”

“He hasn’t crossed the border yet. If he does, I’ll know about it.”

Harvey’s eyebrows rose at this. “I want your contacts.”

She laughed lightly. “No, you don’t. That is, you wouldn’t want to do the things I’ve had to do to acquire those contacts.”

Harvey had his laptop out already, and a rapid Google search brought up a map of the San Juan Islands. They consisted of more than four islands, but the ferry only made stops at Lopez, Shaw, Orcas and San Juan Islands. “None of these look that big. How hard could it be to find him?”

“Harvey, the whole are is a major tourist destination, and therefore littered with cabins, resorts, bed and breakfasts, Air BNB’s, campgrounds. Still, it’s not a needle in a haystack situation. I’ll bring a couple of my associates in on this, and between the three of us, we should have his location by the end of the day.”

“And if he moves? Can you track his debit and credit card usage?”

“Of course. You should know, though, that he made a sizable withdrawal from his bank account before he left town. Also, that same account received a couple of impressively large deposits in the last few days. If we don’t find him soon, he has enough to keep going for a good long while.”

Two large deposits? Those must have been the proceeds from the sale of the apartment, and the severance pay Harvey had negotiated for him. Vanessa was right. If Mike was careful with his money, that would support him for a few years.

Harvey could only speculate on what had sent him running. Perhaps it wasn’t one thing in particular. All the various stresses and disappointments of the last few months had likely brought him to his breaking point.

Had his ugly quarrel with Harvey driven him over the edge?

Vanessa had gone momentarily quiet, and seemed to be waiting for a response from him to some question he hadn’t heard.

“Harvey? What do you want to do?”

Excellent question. What was to be done, really? Mike had every right to do as he pleased, to go where he wanted. He was unemployed, unencumbered, flush with cash. He’d made his feelings for Harvey clear. Hadn’t he?

Harvey frowned. Mike had hinted that he’d discerned Harvey’s feelings for him, and he’d seemed to be less than receptive. The thing to do now was write any future with Mike off as an impossible, lost cause. The thought of giving up and flying back to New York, though … He simply could not picture that in his mind. Not yet.

Maybe Harvey needed to get away from everything, just as Mike had. He could pick a direction, and drive away from the city to get his head on straight. If that direction happened to take him to the Anacortes ferry terminal, and onto a ferry that deposited him onto the same island where Mike had holed up … Well, the world was just full of coincidences, wasn’t it?

“Let me know as soon as you’ve located him.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

 

******

 

Harvey’s car club back in Manhattan had reciprocity agreements with a luxury car rental company in Seattle. They arranged for a Lexus sports coupe to be delivered to the hotel within the hour. Taking a chance that Vanessa would be her usual efficient self and have Mike’s location in a few hours, he decided to leave immediately and hopefully miss the worst of rush hour traffic.

Even so, navigating his way up I-5 in mid-afternoon was a frustrating experience. By the time he passed Everett, traffic thinned somewhat. After Marysville, he could feel his stress levels declining. The area he drove past was a combination of rural farming country and swathes of lush evergreens with a scattering of vine maples mixed in turning flame red as autumn advanced. He passed barns, some falling down, some in better shape, with the sides displaying advertising for a real estate company, or a scene painted by a local artist.

Traffic picked up briefly again as he drove through Mt. Vernon, and then the country grew subtly wilder, with Douglas fir and hemlock crowding more closely as the freeway began to climb out of the valley. Another time, he might have liked to continue north, to see what other transformations occurred around him, but the exit to Anacortes arrived, and he made the turn westward.

The terrain flattened out as he headed toward the coast. The small towns and businesses here seemed more rundown. He flew past them in his hundred thousand-dollar Lexus, wondering idly what it might be like to trade the Lexus for a pickup truck and spend a few years getting to know one these struggling communities.

He kept driving, the road winding through a series of switchbacks which gave him occasional breathtaking views of the water. Signs pointed off towards campgrounds, and something called “Deception Pass.” Tempting as it was to detour from his set course, and explore, he kept the car turned toward Anacortes.

Signs and arrows directed him towards the ferry terminal. As he pulled into line for the ticket booth, and he was staring at the bewildering schedule, wondering which island to head for first, his phone rang. It was Vanessa.

“Harvey, he’s on Orcas Island, staying in cabin number one at some place called ‘Beach Vista.’ I know. Sounds appalling, right? He’s paid for the week and … I hope you don’t mind, but they happened to have an opening for cabin number two, so I booked you. They’re expecting you tonight.”

“Have I told you lately how much I worship and adore you?”

“Not lately, but my bill will reflect that oversight.”

 

******

 

Harvey was not prepared for how heart-stoppingly gorgeous the ferry ride through waters between Anacortes and Orcas Island turned out to be. He left the Lexus on the car deck and followed a group of people who seemed to be locals up to a wide space filled with tables and chairs, vending machines, and a small food concession that sold sandwiches, clam chowder, salads, pastries, sodas and coffee. He grabbed a table near the window and sat, mesmerized, as the ferry plied through Puget Sound, past nameless islands, small mounds of green in the distance darkening as evening fell, with the golds and oranges of violets of the setting sun behind them. A profound sense of peace filled him, such as he’d rarely felt before.

When the scratchy loudspeaker announced that passengers and drivers should return to their cars, he moved with reluctance and a promise to himself that he’d make this trip again someday, during daylight hours, without the urgency and anxiety he felt today.

Disembarking on Orcas Island around seven-thirty, he was waved off the boat and up a hill in a line of  cars, pickups, SUV’s and RV’s. He followed the taillights of the car in front of him through a group of buildings which could barely be called a town, and onto a two-lane country road cutting through close-pressed trees, and impressions of wide meadows barely visible in the sparse lighting.

He followed the instructions issued by the car’s GPS device, and still managed to make a couple of wrong turns. Eventually, he turned onto Enchanted Forest Road, which looked nearly the same as all the other roads that had led him here, but seemed to be some sort of main throughway. Even with the unflappable, generic female voice drifting through the speakers, he nearly missed the turn-off for Beach Vista. His headlights picked out a hand-carved piece of driftwood, which may or may not have been painted at some point in its lifetime.

The tires of the Lexus squealed faintly and sent up a spray of gravel as Harvey negotiated the sudden turn. He found himself on a dirt road, too narrow for more than one car, with turnouts on either side every ten yards or so for unexpected meetings of cars coming the opposite direction. He bumped down the road, beginning to wish he’d opted for an SUV instead of the low-slung sports coupe.

Following the rustic driftwood signs pointing toward the manager’s office, he found it half a mile in, around the side of a building which was locked and dark. He parked and walked to the door. An envelope was taped to the door with “Harley Spencer” scrawled on the front. Inside the envelope he found a key, a copy of the “house rules,” a hand-drawn map to cabin number two, and a note welcoming him and inviting him to visit the office in the morning to check in, signed “B. Guntherson.”

According to the map, he’d passed his cabin on the way in, but hadn’t picked it out in the dark. It was set down a slope near the water. As Vanessa had promised, it was next to cabin number one, where, presumably, Mike was already in for the night.

Tamping down his growing excitement – and anxiety – at being so close to finding Mike, he got back in the car and turned it around to make the jolting drive back to his new home away from home.

He saw now that a dusty assigned parking spot hugged the side of the road. Grabbing his suitcase and laptop, he got out, locked the car, and picked his way down a short hill to the cabin. Lights were on next door, and the scent of woodsmoke hung in the air. Was Mike peering through the curtains to see who had arrived to disturb his solitude?

Harvey unlocked cabin number two, went inside, and looked around. Aggressively rustic. About what he’d expected. Exposed beams overhead were darkened with decades of smoke, and the furnishings looked to be straight out of the seventies and eighties. While he’d been on the ferry, he’d used their Wi-Fi to check the place out. The original resort had been built in the thirties, using the trees cleared to create the site. The only three remaining structures from that time were cabins one through three. Newer structures had been added in the sixties and seventies.

The cabin consisted of three separate rooms: a living room opening into a small kitchen, a bedroom nearly filled by the queen sized bed, and a bathroom containing a shower which looked barely large enough to turn around in.

The location and view nearly made up for the unimpressive interior. A wide deck jutted out from the water side of the cabin. The far side of the deck ended at a pebbly beach only a few steps from the water. All around the cabins, old growth firs and pines hemmed them in. If he looked up through the branches, he could see stars in the clear sky, so bright and thickly clustered that they almost didn’t seem real.

Harvey hadn’t thought to stop at a grocery store on his way here. He’d eaten dinner at an A&W in Anacortes, and had brought a couple of sodas and bags of chips which he’d scavenged from the mini-bar at the hotel before he’d checked out. Right now, he craved scotch, but would have settled for a beer. He checked his watch. Eight-thirty. What now? Go to bed early? Get back in his car and explore the neighborhood? Walk down the fifty feet of beach to his neighbor’s cabin and ask to borrow a cup of booze?

Keeping the lights off, he stepped onto his deck and turned his head to the left, where cabin one was located. Trees obscured much of the building, but the deck was mostly visible. As he stared, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark, he could make out a Mike-shaped form under the eaves, partly outlined by light from inside, slouched in an Adirondack chair, with a beer bottle dangling from one hand.

Figuring Mike couldn’t see him in the dark, Harvey stood unmoving for long minutes, looking his fill. He might have stood there all night but his phone trilled suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Fuck.” He hurried back inside and answered his phone without looking at the screen.

He recognized the voice on the other end immediately. It was Mike.

“You gonna stand out there all night, acting like a creeper, or are you going to get your ass over here and have a beer with me?”

Harvey considered the question, evaluating Mike’s tone of voice. He didn’t sound angry. Nor did he sound particularly welcoming or friendly. It was an improvement over the last time they’d spoken, and he’d been caught out already, so he gave a mental shrug, gathered his courage, and walked over to join Mike.

A small cooler sat at Mike’s side. He lifted out a bottle and handed it to Harvey. Ignoring how awkward he felt, Harvey claimed the other chair, twin to Mike’s, which sat perhaps four feet away. “How’d you know it was me?”

“I was expecting you. The car was my first clue. Who drives a car like that to a place like this? Then I watched you carry your stuff in. I may not have seen your face, but I recognized the way you held yourself, and the way you moved.” He swallowed beer and reached for another bottle. “I figured you’d look for me, and knew it was only a matter of time before you showed up here.”

“Ah. I’ve gotten predictable. I’ll have to remember that.”

“For what? The next time I take off?”

Harvey drank, letting the beer lubricate his dry throat. “Is that what you plan to do? Lead me on a chase all the way around the state, or the country, or –”

“Or the world?” A soft, mocking laugh from Mike. “As entertaining as that sounds, no, it’s not the plan.”

“Is there a plan?”

“Until ten minutes ago, before you showed up, the plan was to sit here, drink my beer, and watch the moon come up over the water. Then tomorrow, the Gunthersons were going to drive me to Eastsound where they tell me I can rent a bike, and I was going to go exploring. I was planning to sleep, and eat and get drunk, and do that every day for the next week. Maybe by then I’ll have figured out my next move.”

Harvey settled more comfortably in the chair. “What about now, now that I’m here?”

“You mean, do those plans now include you?” Mike took another few sips, appearing thoughtful. “I suppose they’ll have to.”

Harvey wasn’t sure what to say to that. _Good? I’m sorry? Can your plans include me for more than a week?_

Mike was talking again. “Rachel and I talked about coming here for our honeymoon.” Another bitter laugh. “Not _here_ , specifically. Not fancy enough for Princess Rachel. But somewhere in the islands. There never seemed to be time to get away, not even for a long weekend. As soon as we arrived in Seattle, we were thrown right into the thick of things.”

And this is where Mike had come to escape his life. Harvey felt doubly awkward, seriously beginning to regret this trip. Reluctantly, he said, “If you’d rather I go …”

“I wouldn’t.”

That was all. No clarification.

“Mike …”

“No. I don’t want to talk tonight. We’ll get to that. God knows, there’s plenty that needs to be said, on both sides. Right now, I just want to enjoy the view. You can stay here and enjoy it with me, or you can go back inside.”

“I’ll stay.” No hesitation.

“Okay.” A few minutes of silence later, Mike lifted his beer bottle and used it to gesture at the water in front of them. “See those orange things out there? The big, circular blobs? They’re easier to see now that the moon’s up.

“Sure.” Harvey had assumed they were buoys of some sort.

“Those show where the crab pots have been placed. I guess someone will come by tomorrow to check on them. I’ve been watching them all afternoon. See how the current catches them? Back and forth. Up and down. Infinitesimally closer, and then away again, back and forth, closer and further and closer again.”

Mike’s voice was low and reflective. Harvey had no idea where he was going with this, but he didn’t mind listening to him, here in the dark and the cool clear air, with the gibbous moon glowing near the horizon and the stars sparking overhead, all of the heavenly light reflected in the water.

“Those markers are the perfect metaphor for life.”

Harvey wasn’t so sure. He asked, “Yeah? How so?”

“We move closer to people, and further away, but we never seem to go anywhere. You advance, I retreat. I advance, you retreat.”

“When did you ever advance? All I saw was retreat.”

“Then you weren’t paying attention.” Using his beer bottle, Mike gestured again at the orange markers. “Look at them. The eternal dance, never changing, never ending.”

“It could change – ”

“Stop. I said I didn’t want to talk about this tonight.” Mike let out a sudden, sharp laugh. “I know, I know, it’s my fault. I started it.”

Harvey had begun to suspect that Mike was toying with him, and it was starting to piss him off. “That’s right. You did. So, why don’t we just get this over with? There’s a ferry heading back to the mainland first thing in the morning. I want to know, right now, if I need to be on that ferry.”

The silence stretched for several minutes while those goddamned crab pot markers did their “eternal dance” back and forth. Up and down. In the silvery moonlight, they began to look like the heads of an invading army, rising up out of the sea.

“Maybe you should go,” Mike finally said. “In the morning.”

 _Shit._ Harvey knew he’d pushed too far, too fast. “If that’s what you want.” He didn’t even try to keep the deep disappointment from his voice.

“Just … I want to know. I want you to tell me straight out, Harvey. What were you hoping might happen between us when you followed me here?”

At long last, Harvey had nothing to lose by telling Mike the truth. If Mike reacted in the way he assumed he would, then he’d never have to see him again, making the and humiliation of rejection less painful.

“I was hoping,” he said, “that we could give things a try between us. I mean, I don’t think I’m wrong about the attraction between us, that’s it’s more than on my side.” Mike had all but confirmed that just a minute earlier.

“Huh.”

That was all. _Huh._

Harvey forged ahead, already dreading how this conversation might end. “Is there anything … is there any chance that you feel the same way? That you’d like to give this a try?”

“Hm.” Mike’s gaze seemed to turn inward as he mulled this over. Finally, “No,” he said.

It felt as if Harvey’s heart stopped beating for a millisecond, before it started up again, banging against his ribs as if looking for a way out.

Then Mike spoke again. “But I’ll give you something to take away with you. The last thing I want is for you to waste the rest of your life wondering how it might have been. I need to know that you’ve moved on. In that spirit, I’ll give you one night. You can get all your questions answered, and finally get me out of your system.”

Harvey gaped at him, speechless for the moment. Had Mike really just offered himself to Harvey? This is what he’d wanted from the start, but he’d been disappointed too often, and for too long, not to feel a niggle of suspicion at how easily Mike had given in.

“Why?” he asked in a choked voice. “Why now? What’s changed?”

“Really? You can’t work that one out for yourself? What’s changed is that I no longer have anything to lose. I don’t know where I’ll go from here. And yes, I’ve wondered too, how it might go between this.” He sighed, sounding suddenly impatient. “The offer is on the table. One time. One night. If you’re still here in the morning, I guess I’ll have my answer..”

Harvey didn’t need the night to think about it. He didn’t need a minute, or even a second. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes.”

He heard an exhalation of breath from Mike that could have been relief, or laughter, or surprise that his bluff had been called.

“Okay, then,” Mike finally said. “I’m usually up with the dawn. Come over for coffee. We’ll spend the day together. And then …”

_And then the night._

It’s what Harvey had wanted for so long, but apparently it would be a one-time thing. He still had the day, though, to change Mike’s mind. If he couldn’t accomplish that, at least he could make sure that when they parted for good, Mike would miss Harvey as much as he was going to miss Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote that part about the orange crab pot markers, I kept getting this strong sense of deja vu. I just checked (after posting this chapter), and I guess I wrote something verrry similar in Vacation in Vermont. (It's a thing I saw in real life and I guess it made an impression on me.) Welp, I guess if you can't plagiarize your own stories, who can you plagiarize? Time to come up with some new material. Ha.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should point out that I've changed the rating to Explicit, as I warned (threatened? promised?) I might do at the beginning. Does this chapter earn the new rating? Read on to find out ...

If Mike was going to be up with the dawn, then so was Harvey. He went to bed earlier than he had in years. There wasn’t much to do at Beach Vista at night anyway, besides sleep. The cabin had no television, or radio, or Wi-fi. He supposed he should be grateful the place was wired for electricity, so he could charge his cell phone. Because, oh yeah, the cabin had no phone either.

As he set the alarm on his phone and brushed his teeth, Harvey wondered what types of people were attracted to a place like this. Hermits? Unabombers? Burned out attorneys?

After stripping down to his underwear, he got into bed, crawling between the well-worn sheets, and pulling up the scratchy blanket and faded quilt, sending up a prayer that no tiny, unwanted guests joined him under the covers.

Not having bothered to build a fire in the wood-burning stove, the air in the cabin had grown noticeably chilly in the hour or so since he’d been there. He closed his eyes, thinking he was too wound up to sleep, but the soft slap of tiny waves hitting the shore whispered through the dark, calming and lulling him so that he slid easily into sleep.

Perhaps it also helped to know that Mike was nearby, was safe for the moment, and Harvey didn’t have to worry about him.

If that was the case, his subconscious did not seem to have gotten the memo. A full hour before his alarm went off, he came awake with a gasp, jackknifing into a sitting position, and blinking into the darkness, disoriented. It took only a second to remember where he was, and that he’d been dreaming that Mike had vanished from his life again, this time permanently.

He got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where the high window had a view of Mike’s cabin through the tree branches. A light was on inside. He breathed more easily as he hurriedly pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and jammed his bare feet into a pair of sneakers. Taking his phone to use as a flashlight, he navigated the rocky beach to reach Mike’s cabin.

Mike was already awake, right where Harvey had left him the night before. Instead of a beer, he held a steaming mug of coffee cradled in both hands. When he spotted Harvey, he gave him a leisurely once-over as he climbed the three steps to get to the deck.

“Coffee’s inside,” Mike said. “Grab a cup, and then you can join me out here if you’ll promise to stop lumbering around and scaring off the wildlife.”

Harvey gave an insulted huff. “Harley Spencer does not lumber.”

“Who?” laughed Mike.

Ignoring him, Harvey lumbered inside.

A Mr. Coffee machine which was probably several decades old held half a carafe of coffee. Harvey filled the largest mug he could find, and then took a moment to examine the interior of the cabin. It was nearly identical to his own, except everything was reversed, the couch was brown plaid instead of orange, and the woodstove looked to be even more of a hazard than Harvey’s. This hadn’t deterred Mike from starting a fire, which was blazing prettily, lending his place a cozier feel than the icebox Harvey had just left.

Back outside, Harvey took his seat. “So, what’s on –”

“Ssh,” said Mike, putting a finger to his lips.

“Did you just shush me?”

“I wasn’t kidding about the wildlife,” Mike whispered. “Just be quiet and still for a few minutes. I promise you won’t regret it.”

It was still dark enough that Mike likely couldn’t see Harvey’s tight, pinched lips. He refrained from arguing and sipped his coffee. The sky lightened almost imperceptibly, and the trees rustled overhead. Two chipmunks ran along an overhanging branch and dropped to the deck, eyed the two humans, and scampered down onto the beach before disappearing into the pre-dawn gloom.

Minutes later, a raccoon ambled between the two cabins and made its way underneath Harvey’s deck. _Probably searching for a trash can to tip over,_ he thought sourly.

Two deer materialized on Mike’s side of the deck, picked their way daintily to the edge of the water, waded a few inches into the lapping wavelets, and squatted to relieve themselves as the sun broke over the horizon, lighting the water in pastel shades of pink and gold. This sudden, stunning display seemed to burn off at least one layer of Harvey’s crusty cynicism. He watched, intrigued, as the deer lifted their faces, sniffed the air, and turned to leave the way they’d come, not seeming to be in any hurry.

As if this was the signal he’d been waiting for, Mike set his mug on the arm of his chair and shifted slightly so he could look at Harvey. “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

Now that he could see Mike clearly in the light of the morning sun, Harvey was able to get a better read on his mood – or he should have been. Over the years, he’d seen Mike angry, bitter, happy, scared, confused, and everything in between. The expression he wore today was something new.

The stress he’d held since the shooting was gone. He looked tired, pensive, with just the faintest touch of something else. Hope? The possibility of hope? The hope of hope?

Oh, wait. Harvey had seen this before. Twice before. The first time was when Mike had left the firm to work for Jonathan Sidwell. The second was after prison, when he’d agreed to return to the firm and take cases at the legal clinic.

This was what Mike looked like when he’d come to a decision which he believed would send his life in a new direction. This had to be about something more than the pity fuck he’d offered Harvey last night.

Realizing he’d been staring for too long, Harvey shifted his gaze away, and belatedly remembered to answer Mike’s question. “How’d I sleep? Surprisingly well. You?”

“Same. For the first time in over a year, I slept a full eight hours. More like nine, actually.”

“Good. That’s good.” One full night of sleep hadn’t managed to entirely erase the dark, bruise-like shadows underneath Mike’s eyes, but a hint of his old sparkle was back. “What’s on the agenda for today?” He sipped his coffee, wincing at the bitter taste.

“First, we go in search of a decent cup of coffee.”

“Glad to hear it, because this is swill.”

“Grab a jacket, put on some socks, and meet me at the car in five minutes.”

 

******

 

Recalling that he still owed the Gunthersons a signed check-in form and a credit card, Harvey made their first stop the manager’s office. No one there was awake yet, so he scribbled his cell phone number onto the back of one of his business cards and slipped it under the door.

“Take me to the closest Starbucks,” he quipped.

Mike smiled, shaking his head. “I think we can do better than that. There’s this bakery in Eastsound that makes the most amazing cinnamon rolls. Their cappuccinos may cause you to reevaluate your entire life. After that, we can check out some of the local scenery, then there’s this art co-op slash restaurant we can hit for lunch.”

Eying him sidewise as he navigated the winding road, Harvey frowned thoughtfully. “I thought you said you and Rachel never made it up here.”

Mike colored slightly. “We didn’t. I, uh, after one of our fights last winter, I rented a car and just drove through the night and thought about things. I ended up in Anacortes early Saturday, drove onto the first ferry that showed up, and spent the day exploring the island. Stayed the night in that same cabin you found me in and went home in the morning.” He smiled, remembering. “It was one of the best days of my life.” He gave Harvey a quick glance. “Except for my wedding, the day I got out of prison, and the day you hired me.”

That earned him another look from Harvey. He stared at Mike for so long that he nearly swerved into an oncoming pickup truck. The truck honked, and Mike yelped, clutching the dashboard.

“You want me to take over the driving?” He sounded as if he was struggling not to laugh.

Harvey considered the question. “You’ve been practicing, huh?”

“Seattle traffic. Trial by fire.”

“Huh. Sure. Okay.” Could it possibly be any worse than rush hour traffic in midtown Manhattan?

Harvey pulled onto the shoulder, put the car in park and set the emergency brake. Both he and Mike got out, and they exchanged places. As Mike adjusted the seat and clicked on the seatbelt, he gave an amused snort. “Automatic transmission? Not much of a challenge.”

“Hey, it’s all they had.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up and drive.”

 

******

 

At the Primrose Bakery in Eastsound, Harvey opted for the granola with almond milk, but Mike shared a bite of his cinnamon roll, which was every bit as delicious as advertised. The ate on the outside deck, basking in the sunshine along with half a dozen other early morning risers. Judging by snatches of conversation he heard, they were locals, universally relieved that two weeks after Labor Day, the island had been more or less vacated by tourists and given back to the residents. Mike and Harvey may have been given a few curious, sidelong glances, but they ignored them.

They’d fallen easily back into the pattern of gentle teasing which had characterized much of their relationship. Harvey enjoyed the banter but had also come to realize that it served to mask all the things they’d left unsaid over the years. He’d been given a single day to push past all that and get to something real.

He opened his mouth to speak some of the words he’d kept buttoned up for too long, and then lost his nerve, repeating the question he’d asked earlier. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“First stop, Cascade Lake, followed by Mount Constitution, that co-op I mentioned, and then another stop or two on the way to Olga.”

“Who’s Olga?”

“Not who. What. Or where.”

“Why do I feel like I’m trapped in an Abbott and Costello bit?”

“Olga is a small town – hamlet, village, whatever – on other side of the island.”

Harvey regarded Mike, narrowing his eyes. “Sounds like a pretty full day. Will there be time for … you know … the rest of it?”

“Don’t worry. The island is not that big.”

Which didn’t exactly answer his question.

 

******

 

Cascade Lake was located in the southwest corner of Moran State Park. Mike parked close to a dock with a small, rustic looking boat house attached. When Harvey spotted the rows of paddle boats lined up along the dock, he balked.

“Oh, hell no,” he protested. “You’re not getting me into one of those.”

The gaze Mike gave him was distinctly exasperated. “You’re ruining Orcas Day.”

Harvey refused to relent.

“Fine.” Mike pointed in another direction. “Do you have any strong feelings about canoes?”

Harvey did not, although he was tempted to pretend that he did, until he remembered they were supposed to be having fun, and he was supposed to be wooing Mike. When he thought about it, a canoe might be conducive to wooing.

As graciously as he could, he said, “A canoe ride sounds delightful.”

They paid a friendly young woman for two hours on the lake, helped her drag a battered green canoe off the dock and into the water, strapped on the life vests she insisted they wear, and gingerly settled in, with Mike taking the back.

They set off across the mirror-clear, empty lake, paddles cutting through wisps of mist that clung to the surface. It took them a minute or two to coordinate their movements, but soon they were working in perfect accord, not heading anywhere in particular, just pulling further and further away from the dock. The ubiquitous fir, hemlock and pine trees crowded the shores, interspersed with vine maples and alders. Through the trees, small tents could be seen, orange and blue and lime green. Harvey could easily picture Mike camping here under the stars, grilling the fish he’d caught that day over the fire he’d built.

He wasn’t so sure he could picture himself there with Mike, doing the same.

They paddled along, and Harvey gave up on thinking about the next day, and the next, and simply enjoyed the cool, sunlit perfection of this day in the beautiful, jewel-like setting of the lake. All of a sudden, the canoe veered from its arrow-straight course. Harvey glanced over his shoulder to find that Mike had lifted his paddle from the water and rested it across the sides. They’d reached the center of the lake. Following Mike’s lead, Harvey lifted his dripping paddle from the water and positioned it in the same manner. The canoe drifted, circling lazily.

“Tired already?” Harvey asked.

Mike shook his head. “Nah. I thought this might be a good place to talk.”

“Did you?” Harvey wrinkled his brow, gazing around them in confusion. “Let me guess: you think no one will ever find the body?”

“Ha ha.” Mike stretched his legs out and leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “Why is it that we can talk for hours about everything under the sun, except for what really matters?”

Dread and relief warred in Harvey’s gut. Finally, finally, they were getting to it. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. ”What is it that you think really matters?”

Instead of answering directly, Mike said, “Do you remember that first day we met?”

“Of course. It’s seared forever in my brain. Which is less common for me than for you.”

“I imagine my excitement was evident.”

Harvey shifted in his seat, turning halfway so he could watch Mike. The canoe dipped and wobbled, and then grew stable once more. “You never were good at disguising your emotions.” He paused, thinking about what he’d just said. “You’ve grown better at it.”

“Hm. Well, maybe fifty-percent of that excitement was about landing my dream job. Another … let’s say twenty-five percent was realizing I’d be able to pay for my grandmother’s assisted living facility. The final twenty-five percent? That was all about you, Harvey.”

“Me?”

“You.” Mike started counting off points on his fingers. “Handsome. Hot body. Powerful. Smart. Accomplished. And … did I mention handsome and hot?” He barked out a laugh. “My God, if you’d ordered me to blow you right then and there, I’d have dropped to my knees without a second thought.”

“Huh.” Harvey trailed one hand in the icy water, savoring Mike’s admission. “Now you tell me.” Another pause. “Why didn’t you tell me back then? Or at least signal how you felt.”

“Because -- and you’re not going to want to hear this – my first day there I met Rachel.”

“Ah.” He pushed up his sleeve and plunged his arm in to the elbow, opening and closing his fist. “Fickle.”

“Not really. She just seemed more obtainable. Sweeter. Softer.” 

“This is Rachel we’re talking about, right? To be honest, I never got that from her.”

“Everything is relative. At least she didn’t have all your hard, jagged edges.”

“You concluded all that after one meeting with me? And five minutes with her?”

Another bitter-sounding laugh from Mike. “Maybe not that soon, but your opinion of me became clear pretty quickly. Even though you’re the one that hired me knowing my situation, you never stopped throwing my lack of credentials in my face, and my lack of experience. That last one stung the most. What experience was I supposed to have had? Then there were a thousand little slights, a thousand ways you managed to undermine my confidence and shame me in front of both colleagues and clients.”

Harvey lifted his arm and shook it, spraying droplets of water in every direction. “Come on, Mike. That was all just a part of the whole partner to first-year hazing schtick. Everyone goes through it. Surely you’re not that sensitive.” Even as he said this, he experienced a vague sense of shame. Maybe he had been rougher on Mike than he would have if he hadn’t been working so hard to deny own feelings – and if he hadn’t been so sickeningly jealous of Mike’s obvious infatuation with Rachel.

“As far as the job went,” Mike was saying, “it wasn’t a problem. As far as me making overtures? Hell, no. Whatever it was you were actually feeling, you were telegraphing barely veiled contempt. And then after that whole thing with Darby, you cut me loose so brutally. Sure, we patched things up eventually, but the things you said to me, and the way you treated me … that kind of stuff sticks with a person.”

“It was all so long ago.” Harvey stared up at the blue sky. Not a single cloud in sight. The mist on the lake had disappeared. He could see people on the shore now. A handful of other boats had joined them on the lake – rowboats, paddle boats, and one windsurfer. “Why dredge all that up? Can’t we just start where we are now and move forward?”

Mike hummed. “Sure. Maybe. I just wanted you to know …"

Hearing a heavy sigh from Mike, Harvey turned to look at him again. His sudden movement rocked the canoe back and forth. “You wanted me to know what?”

“I’m not oblivious. I was never oblivious. And I’ve always been attracted to you. During that whole thing with Logan Sanders, when I stayed at your place? I thought about getting back at Rachel with you.”

“Jesus, Mike. You know how I feel about cheating.”

“Which is what stopped me. Mostly what stopped me. By then I was maybe thirty to forty-percent sure you felt something for me – other than pity or contempt.” His gaze darted away from Harvey’s. “That still left a lot of room for doubt. And … I’d felt like we were on close to even footing while I was with Sidwell. Then that all went to shit, I was unemployed and couch-surfing at your place. Not exactly a position of strength.”

“Then you got back together with Rachel, almost married her, went to prison, and eventually married her for real. We up to date now?” He heard the impatience in his own voice, and the bitterness.

Mike picked up the paddle, took one lazy swipe through the water, and set it down again. The canoe started a slow spinning drift back in the direction from which they’d come. “You were so supportive while I was in prison. I liked that. It made it almost bearable. You were there for me, putting everything on the line. But when you got me out for that one night, you served me up to Rachel. And when I got out for good, there she was again, brought there by you for the big reunion. If you hadn’t done that … You could have had me, right there, right then, in the backseat of that town car.”

“I’ll say it again, ‘now you tell me.’” Harvey smiled sadly across the few feet that separated them.

They were both silent for a few minutes, drifting aimlessly. Laughter and muffled conversations made their way to them from across the water. The life jacket seemed like an unbearable weight against his chest. Harvey thought about taking it off.

They were close enough to the shore now that Harvey could make out a group of four boys – probably teens or pre-teens – clustered tightly around something one of them was showing the others. For one, brief, heart-stopping moment, he was certain it was a handgun. Then the flame of a lighter flared, and a small object sizzled in the boy’s hand before he tossed it out over the lake. All four boys covered their ears and crouched.

 _Firecracker,_ thought Harvey, just before it exploded with a sharp pop maybe ten yards in front of them. On the shore, a second firecracker was already lit. A joke was forming in Harvey’s mind, something about being lit up.

“Gun!” Mike shouted hoarsely. He sprang to his feet, knocking his paddle into the water, and surged toward Harvey. “Get down.”

The canoe rocked wildly back and forth, growing increasingly unstable.

“Mike,” Harvey began, intending to reassure him, let him know it wasn’t a gun, only a firecracker. A second pop sounded, closer this time.

Mike’s body slammed into Harvey’s, shielding him and knocking him onto his side. The canoe pitched one way, Harvey tried to roll the opposite direction to steady it, but Mike’s weight had him pinned. The extreme rocking motion rolled them both to the edge, overbalanced the canoed and flipped it over, spilling them into the lake.

The frigid temperature shocked his system. Harvey had enough warning that he managed to keep his mouth closed, but water rushed up his nose and closed over his head. The fall had thrown him clear of the canoe. He kicked his legs, propelling himself to the surface, where he gasped for air and looked around wildly for Mike. He surfaced a foot or two away from Harvey, eyes wide and panicked.

“They found us,” he wheezed, and started coughing. A firecracker exploded near the shore. Mike reached for Harvey, the action threatening to pull them both under again. “Get behind me.”

“Mike, it wasn’t a gun.”

“Damn it, Harvey. Hold your breath.” He made another awkward lunge for Harvey, evidently intending to drag him under the water.

“Wait,” Harvey panted. “Calm down. Listen to me. No gun, just some idiot kids setting off firecrackers.”

The panic in Mike’s eyes subsided. “No gun?”

“No gun. No one’s trying to kill us. But if we don’t drown first, hypothermia will get us.”

Drowning probably wasn’t a credible threat, with their life jackets keeping them buoyant. Harvey had begun to shiver and could hear Mike’s teeth chattering.

“Here,” said Harvey, grabbing Mike’s arm and towing him toward the canoe. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to sink. Grab on.”

“Should we try to right it?”

“I don’t’ think that will be necessary.” Harvey nodded toward the shore, and the two rowboats heading in their direction. “Looks like help is on the way.”

 

******

 

After Harvey’s offer to pay for any damages – there hadn’t been any – had been rejected, and the canoe had been drained and towed back to the dock, the rental crew loaned Mike and Harvey towels and allowed them to warm up and dry out a bit inside the boathouse, next to a portable heater. Their phones and wallets were waterlogged. Harvey’s watch had taken a licking, but had not kept on ticking.

Worse than all that, in Harvey’s mind, they had been so close to getting to the crux of things, to settling questions which had dogged them for years.

Mike’s reaction both worried and puzzled Harvey. Clearly, he was not over the shooting. Had Harvey witnessed a full-blown episode of PTSD, or hypervigilant jumpiness? And why had his first instinct been to protect Harvey? Although Harvey could appreciate the gesture, and hoped it was an indication of deeper feelings, he also worried about Mike’s apparent lacking sense of self-preservation.

He watched Mike shiver in the chair next to his. He avoided Harvey’s gaze, his own focused on the wooden planks of the floor.

“You ready to go?” Harvey finally asked. “We need to get out of these wet clothes.”

Without looking up, Mike murmured, “We’ll ruin the upholstery in the Lexus.”

“Fuck the upholstery. I have insurance.”

Another time, Mike might have chuckled at this declaration. Now, he nodded dispiritedly and climbed to his feet. “I really wanted to get out to Olga today. I wanted to show you something there.”

“There’s still plenty of time.”

“Maybe.”

Harvey trailed Mike out of the boathouse and to the car, sad to see that Mike seemed to have left his zest for the day at the bottom of the lake.

 

******

 

Harvey set some kind of speed record stripping off his soggy clothes, rinsing off in the coffin-sized shower, dressing in dry clothes, and heading back over to Mike’s place. He efforts were rewarded by the sound of running water. Mike was still in the shower.

He carried in more logs from the box outside the front door, built up the fire, and snooped in the kitchen to find out what Mike had brought to eat. He found bread, sliced ham and turkey, condiments in brand new containers, and a bag of apples. Working quickly, he put together half a dozen sandwiches, sliced up a couple of apples, and by the time Mike stepped out the bathroom with only a towel draped around his hips, Harvey had lunch ready.

Mike flinched when he spotted Harvey, clapping a hand to his chest in mock-dramatic fashion. “Shit. Warn a guy?” He stared at Harvey, an odd light in his eyes which Harvey chose to interpret as interest.

He stood and stalked closer to Mike, keeping his movements slow so as not to spook him. A shiver rippled through Mike in spite of the fire-heated warmth of the room.

Falling back on the tried and true strategy of direct action, Harvey closed the remaining space between them and set his hands on Mike’s damp shoulders, searching his face for any sign that he didn’t want this. He detected nothing to deter him, so he slid his hand down Mike’s arms and bumped his chest to his. Mike went perfectly still, and then breathed out slowly, lifting his chin. He gazed at Harvey’s mouth while licking his own lips.

Knowing an invitation when he saw one, Harvey leaned in and kissed him. Mike didn’t move a muscle, either to accept or reject. To Harvey, he seemed suspended, evaluating. Not wishing to fail the audition, Harvey gave the kiss everything he had. Keeping his lips soft, he brushed them across Mike’s, pressed more firmly, and tested the seam of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. One hand went behind Mike neck, the other to the small of his back. Mike’s towel slid to the floor, either by accident or by design, and Harvey moved his lower hand to cup one muscular ass cheek, drawing Mike closer.

Mike’s cock nudged Harvey’s thigh. His mouth opened on a soft moan, and Harvey slipped his tongue inside, tilting his head to find the best angle. He felt Mike’s tongue stir to life against his. A low sound of triumph tore from Harvey’s throat.

The kiss deepened. Mike’s hands worked the fastenings of Harvey’s jeans. They shared a groan between them. Harvey steered them blindly toward the bedroom, miscalculated, and shoved Mike’s naked back against the doorframe.

Mike gasped and broke the kiss, pressing a hand to Harvey’s chest. “Wait. Wait. Slow down.”

“Why?” Harvey grasped Mike’s upper arms. He didn’t want to wait. He didn’t want to slow down. The look in Mike’s eyes, though, bordered on panic, so Harvey let him go and took a step back, breathing hard.

“I didn’t say stop,” said Mike. “Just …” He took Harvey’s hand and led him into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mike stared up at him. “This has been a long time coming. Let’s take our time.”

Harvey nodded. He could do that. “Tell me what you want. I’ll take it as slow or as fast as you want.”

“Maybe start by taking off your clothes and joining me in bed.”

 

******

 

They lay underneath the covers, on their sides, facing one another but not touching.

“You’re okay now?” Harvey asked him. “After what happened on the lake, I mean.”

Mike blinked slowly, brows drawing down. “I kind of overreacted, huh?”

“You misinterpreted the situation. Perfectly understandable, after the shooting.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t make me feel like any less of an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Harvey reached across the space that separated them and ran a finger along the ridge of Mike’s collarbone, watching as he shivered and bit his lip. “Tell me something, though. Why did you do it?”

Mike inched closer and rubbed his foot against Harvey’s ankle. “I thought we already established that. I’m both jumpy and an idiot.”

“No. I mean, why’d you leap at me like that, and tell me to get behind you when we were in the water?” He was pretty sure he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from Mike.

“Because the last time somebody was shooting at me, someone I loved died. I wasn’t going to let that happen again.”

Several heartbeats passed as Harvey digested those words, the ones he’d been longing to hear from Mike for nearly a decade. “God, Mike,” he breathed, and pressed a tender kiss to Mike’s mouth. “I want … can I …?”

Mike pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. They kissed and rubbed against each other, hands exploring, increasingly heated and frantic.

“I don’t – ” gasped Harvey after a time. “Do you have any …”

“Any what?”

“Supplies.”

“I – No. You either? Shit.” Mike rested his forehead against Harvey’s, and they breathed one another in.

“It’s okay,” Harvey murmured. “There’s still plenty we can do. Later, we can go out and – ” He paused, as something occurred to him. “There will be a later, right? This isn’t my only at bat, is it?”

Mike grinned down at him. “That depends.” He rocked his hips, grinding languidly against Harvey.

“On what?”

“On how the first at bat goes.”

Harvey wrapped a leg around Mike’s, and rolled them over so that Mike was pinned underneath him. He might have assured him that he had nothing to worry about on that score, but figured that show, don’t tell, was the superior strategy here. He’d been waiting for and fantasizing about this moment for far too long.

He captured Mike’s mouth for another slow, deep kiss. He could feel Mike’s hard cock pressed to his own. Moving one hand between them, he palmed Mike, stroking slowly. “Like that?”

“Fuck,” Mike gasped, thrusting up into Harvey’s hand.

Harvey aligned their cocks and stroked them together. His breathing sped up, matching Mike’s, and he slid partway off him, stroking and rutting against him while Mike clutched his ass to bring them closer together. The air filled with their desperate grunts, and moans and curses. Mike tucked his face against Harvey’s shoulder. His hip-thrusts sped up, became wilder, more erratic.

“Harvey,” he rasped, and then tensed, froze, and shuddered violently, spilling hotly over Harvey’s hands. Seconds later, Harvey joined him in climax, clutching him tightly as honey-sweet electricity surged through him.

They clung together for long minutes, heart rates slowing, breathing returning to normal, sweat and cum drying on them. Harvey didn’t want to move, wanted the moment to stretch forever. Too soon, Mike lifted his head to regard Harvey, who quirked an eyebrow in return.

“Acceptable?” asked Harvey.

“Well,” said Mike, “you didn’t strike out.”

Harvey rolled his eyes, but gave a reluctant laugh. “Good to know.” A few minutes later, he heard Mike’s stomach rumble. “I made us some lunch earlier.”

Mike disentangled himself and rolled onto his back. “What time is it?”

“No idea. My phone and my watch both drowned this morning. Noon, maybe? One?”

“Good. We’ve still got plenty of time.”

“So, we head to the store, and then …” Harvey waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, that. Absolutely that. But there’s somewhere I want to take you. Something I need to show you.”

On his side, head resting on one hand, Harvey grinned at Mike. “Likewise, I’m sure,” he purred.

“I’m serious. Let’s get cleaned up and get dressed. We’re burning daylight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was a kid, my mother taught me that if someone gives you a gift, you must write a thank you note. Every time someone leaves a comment on one of my fics, it feels like a gift, which is why I usually reply with at least a quick thank you. Lately, I have been appallingly bad at responding to your comments. All I can say is it's been a bitch of a crappy effed up summer, and with a finite store of energy, I've been using whatever's left from not losing my damn mind to work on the fic itself. So here is a blanket "THANK YOU!!" for all the lovely comments, and a promise to try to do better going forward. Because my mother taught me better.

Mike needed to make a phone call, so their first stop was Beach Vista’s office. This time the Gunthersons were in. Or rather, Red Guntherson, a fifty-something man who, despite the name, was completely bald. Harvey peeled a credit card out of his soggy wallet and handed it over. When asked how long he intended to stay, he thought it over for a moment and then optimistically had Red put him down for a week in cabin two.

Perhaps it would have been more optimistic to announce that he was moving his things into cabin one, but he judged that he and Mike weren’t there yet.

When Harvey finished his transaction, Mike sent him back to the car while he used the office phone. Whatever he meant to show Harvey was evidently meant to be a surprise.

With Harvey driving, they headed back in the same direction they’d taken that morning, accelerating past Cascade Lake, which was now teeming with people and boats of all kinds. Mike stared resolutely in the opposite direction. They passed the turn-off for Mount Constitution. Harvey supposed they would have to make that side trip another day.

If they had any days together after this one.

They continued along what felt like a deserted and interminable stretch of road, although the area couldn’t have been that deserted. Mailboxes appeared at regular intervals at the end of long driveways, some gravel, some dirt, and a few paved. Sometimes houses or trailers could be seen set back in the trees.

“Slow down,” Mike finally instructed. “We need to make a quick stop here.”

Harvey pulled into the parking lot in front of what looked like an upscale log cabin with a covered porch. He followed Mike inside to discover an art gallery filled with blown glass, textile art, pottery, paintings, photographs, metal sculptures, stained glass, carved wooden dishes and utensils, and jewelry of every sort imaginable. This must be the art co-op Mike had mentioned.

“Go on and browse for a couple of minutes,” said Mike. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”

Harvey watched Mike walk to the back of the building into what appeared to be a small café. A middle-aged waitress in a peasant blouse and dirndl skirt greeted him warmly, and then they chatted for a while. Harvey wandered through the art displays while keeping half an eye on Mike. A handful of other people wandered through the galleries with him. He imagined that in the summer, at the height of tourist season, this place would be a big draw.

The prices, he noted, were higher than he might have expected this far from Manhattan, but he supposed even artists in the hinterlands needed to make a living. Acting on an impulse he couldn’t have explained, he picked out two matching pottery mugs in a blue-grey color with bright teal and gold splotches, and paid for them at the register. While the clerk wrapped them in tissue paper and placed them in a bag, he glanced back at the café to see what Mike and his hippie-waitress gal pal were up to. He watched Mike accept a small object from her and shove it into a pocket of his jeans.

Harvey strolled outside, leaning on the railing of the porch while he waited for Mike to finish his drug deal or whatever the hell he was up to. Maybe this was where the islanders came to buy their handcrafted, one-of-a-kind condoms. Harvey amused himself imagining what that would even look like.

Mike joined him on the porch, expression cagey.

“All done?” asked Harvey pleasantly.

“Yep.” He nodded at the shopping bag in Harvey’s hand. “What’s that?”

“A surprise. Back in the car?”

“Yep.”

 

******

 

They didn’t have much further to drive before they reached their destination. As Mike had stated earlier, Olga was a small village, located on the south end of the eastern half of the rough horseshoe shape which made up the island. Neat little wooden houses and cottages straggled along the shoreline in light colors, white being the predominant one. A public dock, covered with moss, stretched out into the bay, with a few unprepossessing motor boats and sailboats tied up to it.

They passed the “Olga Store,” a blindingly white, picture-perfect version of a farmhouse, and then Mike directed him to a patch of gravel. They parked. Mike looked at him expectantly. Was Harvey supposed to share his impressions? He searched for a neutral comment. “It’s … uh … remote,” he finally came up with. At the same time, he was thinking, _this must be where all the fugitives come to hide and live out their final days._

Mike grinned, as if Harvey had said something profound. “Right? The first time I saw this place, I felt such a strong pull, like this is where I was meant to be.”

“A pull?” Harvey gazed around them, trying to see the place through Mike’s eyes.

“Yeah. Don’t you feel it? There’s this sense of calm here. Of peace.”  He must have seen Harvey’s skepticism. “Give it a few minutes. Walk with me.”

They set off down the narrow street, getting a close-up view of small, neat houses, some of them smaller versions of the store, some more like rustic cabins, or treehouses brought to ground level. Harvey spotted a few people in their yards, or inside their homes, but the whole village still had an empty, deserted feel to it.

The view of the water was undeniably lovely. Where he might have expected nothing but flat ocean all the way to the far horizon, he saw instead several islands at varying distances, standing out clear in the afternoon sunshine, dark with evergreen trees. A couple of sailboats tacked between the islands. High, wispy clouds drifted lazily overhead.

They had walked for less than five minutes when Mike stopped in front of a well-maintained white house with a postage stamp sized lawn and an actual, honest-to-God picket fence. He led Harvey up the sidewalk to the front door. Under the street number a small brass plaque was bolted. It read: “Deacon McManus, Attorney-at-Law.”

Alarm seemed to tighten every muscle in Harvey’s body. Was Mike … Was he actually …?

“What is this?” he asked, faintly surprised at how calm he sounded.

Mike produced a key and unlocked the door. “Check it out,” he called over his shoulder, and strolled inside as if he owned the place.

Harvey hesitated, but followed him in. A small but well-appointed office sat to the left of the entryway. On the opposite side he glimpsed what might have been a den or living room. All the furniture was heavy and masculine. No pictures hung on the wall, but he could clearly see lighter rectangles where some might have once been.

“He left almost everything behind,” Mike was saying. “Not what I would have picked out for myself, but it’s got to be a bitch to have furniture delivered all the way out here from the mainland. It’ll do for now.”

“He who? Mike, what are we doing here?”

“McManus. Deacon. I met him last time I was up here. I saw the sign out front, so of course I had to knock on his door and introduce myself.”

“Of course.” Harvey’s sarcasm went unacknowledged by Mike.

“I was curious to find out what kind of a practice he could possibly have here.”

_At the ass end of the world,_ Harvey supplied silently.

“As it turned out, he did pretty well for himself. Lots of real estate transactions, DUI charges, property disputes, divorces, the occasional battery or malicious mischief. Contracts of all kinds. Even a couple of copyright issues with the local artist community. He worked as much as he wanted and had plenty of time for himself.”

“Worked? Past tense?”

“He was getting ready to retire. Decided to move to a warmer climate. On a whim, I asked if he’d consider selling to me – the house, the practice, the whole thing – when the time came for him to leave. I was pretty angry at Rachel at the time. When I got home, I forgot about it.

“Then, a couple of months ago, Deacon contacted me. Things in Seattle had gotten crazy, and this sounded like a way out, but I couldn’t get away then. I would have liked to say goodbye to him before he left, but I do have a standing invitation to visit him in Coral Gables.” At Harvey’s blank look, he clarified, “Florida.”

Harvey stared at him. “Let me guess: that waitress moonlights as a real estate agent.”

“Other way around, but yeah.”

“Have you – ” Harvey had to pause to get a firm grip on his emotions. “Have you finalized the sale?”

“Not yet. I figured I should at least have another look at the place in person. It’s mine if I want it. Deacon gave me a few months to decide. I won’t need that long.”

Harvey didn’t know what to say. He’d rarely seen Mike looking so happy and excited – not lately, anyway. But this was nuts, even for Mike.

He spoke carefully. “Have you really thought this through?”

“Except for my cases, I haven’t thought about much else recently.”

“Mike, can I be completely honest with you?”

“Always.”

“This is a mistake.”

Mike’s happy smile drained away, to be replaced by an angry frown. “No, it’s not. Fuck. Why would you even say that? This is my dream. I finally know what I want to do with my life. I thought you’d be thrilled for me, that you’d support me. I thought …” He trailed off.

“Mike – ” Harvey rubbed his forehead, trying to rub away the incipient headache. “Let’s review, shall we? The job with me was your dream. Then Rachel was your dream. Then investment banking. Then working at the legal clinic. Then the job in Seattle. This is a pattern with you. You grab onto the next shiny thing that comes along, and it always ends up badly for you.”

“What are you saying? I should give up on my dreams?”

“I’m saying, you can run all you want, but you can’t run away from yourself. Hell, this isn’t even running away. This is you trying to bury yourself out here where no one will ever find you. What happened to saving the world? To helping people?”

“I can help people here.”

“Not like you could back in New York.”

Mike’s sigh turned into a groan. “Harvey, after everything that’s happened, I’ve come to believe my problem was that I was always thinking too big, Maybe I should think local, one person, one problem at a time. Maybe that’s all I’m capable of, in the end.”

“Bullshit. You’re a great lawyer. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Bullshit right back at you. How did being the best come to represent our main aspiration? Not everyone can be the best. Is everyone else supposed to settle for second best, or third, or tenth, or one hundredth? Is everyone else supposed to be constantly clawing to claim that top spot?”

“You’re damned right.” Harvey had believed this for so long that he defended the position reflexively.

“No.” Mike shook his head. His manic energy and excitement had disappeared, and he looked exhausted once again, like he had back in Seattle. “I can’t do it anymore. It’s not sustainable.”

Harvey took a moment to scrutinize Mike. “You’re just tired. I get that you need a break. Take a week or two to decompress, and then you’ll realize …” His voice faltered. What was it he’d hoped that Mike would realize? That he wanted to go back to New York? That he felt the same way Harvey did? All of the above?

“This isn’t a spur of the moment thing. I’ve been considering it for a while.”

“Okay. But your decision is based on one brief visit, less than a day, and a few months of daydreams about escaping a stressful situation. You’ve built this place, and this idea, up in your mind, without solid evidence to back it up. That’s not a rational way to arrange your future.”

“It’s not just – ” Mike turned away to stare down at the desktop.

“It’s not just what?” Harvey heard the exasperation in his own voice. He already regretted reacting with such virulent disapproval. It felt as if he was driving Mike further away.

Mike walked around the desk to sit – or more accurately, to collapse – in the black leather chair. He couldn’t seem to meet Harvey’s eyes. “This isn’t just about my future anymore. It’s about both of us.”

“I … “ Harvey fell silent, putting the puzzle pieces together in the space of a few heartbeats. “You wanted … you actually thought …” He couldn’t get the words out.

Always obliging, Mike spoke them for him. “I thought you could join me here. We could open a practice together. Specter and Ross. Something small, meant to stay that way. We can enjoy everything the island has to offer, travel whenever we feel like it, go anywhere, do anything.”

Despite his knee-jerk aversion to the idea of relocating here, Harvey allowed himself to contemplate it, to imagine what it might be like. They’d be together, and could make up for all those years they’d wasted. He’d get to wake up next to Mike every morning, fall asleep with him at night, touch him whenever he wanted to, fuck him.

“Please, Harvey. This is our chance for a new start. You don’t have to answer right now. Just say you’ll think about it. Please?”

“Hold on one second.” Harvey held out a hand, was surprised to see the tremor in it, and jammed it in his jacket pocket. “I’m confused. How in the hell do you go from nearly complete rejection, to offering me one single night with you, to …” He gestured around them. “To this?”

Mike rested his head in his hands. “I don’t know.” He sounded miserable. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Yesterday, I was still angry at you. Then I spent the night thinking about it … thinking about you.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see.” Mike sounded angry again. “I wanted to win that appeal. It was the only thing I had left, the only way I could … I don’t know … _avenge_ Rachel, I suppose. You took that away from me.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“I know. It was that asshole, Forsyth. The words were coming out of your mouth, though, and I hated you for that.”

“So, what you were proposing last night was hate sex?”

Mike snorted. “Goddamn it, Harvey. Not fair. I don’t want to laugh right now. There is nothing remotely funny about any of this.”

“Or, wait. Don’t tell me the preview sex was just that good?”

Mike was chuckling, but he sounded tired. “Not the worst thing ever.”

“Ah.”

“No. No ‘ah.’ I just got over being angry, that’s all. I remembered all the other times we’ve been mad at each other, and how good it felt to just stop, to forgive and move on.”

“But mostly it was the sex?”

Mike directed a narrow-eyed glare at him. “Shut up.”

Harvey sighed, taking a seat across from Mike. “I’ve told you before how I prefer to live my life.”

“Right.” Mike held his palm over his head. “Up here. Not down here.” He moved his palm lower.

“And this here? What you’re proposing?” Harvey shook his head sadly. “Pretty much ankle level.”

Mike inhaled and exhaled raggedly. “Has it ever occurred to you that your need for an over the top life has something to do with – ” He pressed his lips together in a tight scowl.

“Something to do with what? Go on. If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. A way to keep from thinking too closely about everything that’s missing from your life.”

“Missing?” he asked, incredulous. “ _Missing_?” This time his voice cracked on the word. “What do you think is missing? I have everything I want. Everything I need. Everything – ” He broke off, hearing the lie.

Mike, damn him, finished for Harvey, “Except someone to share it with.” He spoke the words softly, with infinite compassion.

Harvey paused to catch his breath, and to silently acknowledge how neatly Mike had outmaneuvered him. It wasn’t like both Agard and Lipschitz hadn’t led him to this conclusion before. Hearing it from Mike, though, cut deeper and more incisively. He wasn’t ready to wave the white flag yet, however. He thought rapidly, and then spoke again.

“Fine. You may have a point. I’d like to suggest something. You have time before you need to give McManus an answer. You’ve asked me to think about your proposal. Okay. I’ll do that if you you’ll do the same for me. Think about coming back to New York. We can start our own firm there, if that’s what you want. We can keep things small and exclusive.”

Mike was already shaking his head, rejecting the idea.

“Fair’s fair, Mike. You’re asking a lot from me. Aren’t I entitled to do the same?”

“I’m not – ”

“My cabin’s paid for the week. Can you wait for that long? I promise to give serious consideration to what you’re asking. Can you promise me the same?”

He hated the look of disappointment he’d put in Mike’s eyes, but felt deep relief when Mike finally gave a grudging nod. “One week,” he agreed.

“And … sexy times are still on the table?”

“Table. Bed. Deck. Ocean.”

Harvey couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across his face. “When you reverse course, you certainly go all out.”

“It’s a whole week, Harvey. That’s a lot of time to fill. We might have to get creative.”

“We might.”

_A whole week._ The words bounced around inside Harvey’s head. They’d gone from a single night to a week. Better, but still disconcertingly finite.

Harvey had promised to think about Mike’s crazy proposal, and he’d honor that promise. Right at that moment, he believed he could never agree to what Mike wanted. He stood a better chance of winning Mike over to his way of thinking. He wasn’t above fucking his way to win an argument, and that is what he intended to do.

 

******

 

On the drive back to Beach Vista, they stopped at the Eastsound general store to stock up on supplies for the week. Mike raised his eyebrows at the quantity of condoms and lube that filled Harvey’s shopping basket.

“Quite the optimist,” he remarked.

“You said it yourself: it’s a whole week. I’d rather not face Edna Kravitz over there more than once if I don’t have to.”

“I never took you for a shy guy.”

Harvey chose to ignore that. “Do you suppose there’s anywhere on this island I can buy a new cell phone? I should probably check in with Vanessa and let her know I didn’t fall off the ferry and drown.”

“Ugh. Please don’t talk about drowning.” Mike thought about it. “I have no idea. I know five different places where we can get a kite, a seashell key ring, and a commemorative shot glass, but a phone? Let’s ask Edna if she knows.”

According to Edna (whose actual name, according to her nametag, was Becca), they’d have to either go back to Anacortes, or try San Juan Island, which was a relatively quick ferry ride away.

They thanked her for the information.

“If you want to thank me,” she said, dragging the last of the lube across the scanner, “you could invite me to the orgy.”

Mike went an interesting shade of red, mumbled something intelligible, and went to wait in the car.

“Got a bashful one there, huh?” asked Edna-Becca. “I wouldn’t worry. Those are the ones that surprise you the most.”

“Oh, he’s surprising, all right.” As Harvey paid with his debit card, it occurred to him that if Vanessa really wanted to know what had become of him, she could track his purchases.

He eyed Edna-Becca speculatively and decided that in the interests of beginning his due diligence regarding Orcas Island, he could begin with her. “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Twenty-some years. Came to work here in between my junior and senior year at college and decided to come back to stay after I graduated.”

“So, you like living here, I take it.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t mind the isolation? The lack of … well, anything to do?”

She shot him a confused look and handed the bag to him. “You’re kidding, right? There’s everything to do here. Everything important. We have some fantastic restaurants. A movie theater. A couple of book clubs. Social groups. If church is your thing, we’ve got plenty of those. If not, you just need to ask around. You can usually find like-minded people who share your, er, preferences. Anything you can’t find on the island is only a ferry and car ride away.” She regarded him with interest. “Why? You thinking of moving here?”

“The idea is on the table.”

“With you and your husband?”

_Oh …. Fuuuuuck, he liked the way that sounded._ “Yeah. Although I haven’t put a ring on that yet.”

She slapped his arm lightly. “What are you waiting for? He looks like a keeper.”

Harvey nodded. “He is. He damn sure is.” He gave her a slightly watery smile, took a step toward the door, and then turned back again.

“Those, uh, ‘fantastic’ restaurants you mentioned. Can you recommend the best one for a romantic dinner?”

“That would be the Eagle’s Loft, just down the street, here in town. You’ll need to call ahead to make sure you get a table near the window. The view, especially at sunset, is a real panty dropper.

“May I use your phone?”

“Sure. I’ll even dial for you.

 

******

 

They decided to put off the trip to San Juan Island until the following day. Mike yawned as they headed back to Beach Vista.

“Should we grab takeout for dinner?”

“I’ve got something else in mind. We have just enough time to freshen up, change, and get back to Eastsound.”

“Change?”

“Or not. Jeans should be fine. Maybe put on something besides a t-shirt, though.”

“Hm. Mysterious.”

“Not really. I just wanted to treat you to a nice dinner.”

“Ah. Let the wining and dining begin?”

“Something like that.”

 

******

 

The Eagle’s Loft was everything Edna-Becca had promised it would be. The lights were turned low, and candles guttered and gleamed on every table, perhaps a third of which were occupied by other diners. They sat near one of the picture windows, and were treated to a stunning view of the sun setting over the water. Gulls drifted and circled in the blazing sky. After receiving permission from Mike and Harvey, the waiter cracked the window slightly to let in the cool, salt-scented air.

No menu was offered to them. The chef had already determined the fare for the evening. Plate after plate of amazing creations were placed in front of them, most incorporating at least one type of seafood. The sauces and sides were inventive and delicious, all using local ingredients. Even the excellent wine was from a local winery. Harvey got the name and location, and made a mental note to pick up a case or two.

As if mutually agreed upon, dinner conversation avoided all the landmines that currently complicated a possible future together. They compared some of their more interesting cases of the past year. Harvey caught Mike up on the lives of their friends in New York, and Mike told him amusing stories of Seattle politics.

They ended dinner with homemade ice cream and cookies, fell all over themselves complimenting the chef, and left only slightly inebriated.

“My God,” said Mike “that was incredible. Can we come back tomorrow night?”

“We can come back as many times as you like.” _Until the week is over._

Almost shyly, Mike reached across the gearshift for his hand, and held it all the rest of the way back to Beach Vista.

 

******

 

While Mike built up the fire, Harvey sat on the couch enjoying the view of his gorgeous ass as he squatted in front of the stove and deftly arranged kindling and logs. When the fire was burning steadily, Mike joined him on the sofa, not putting any space between them.

“Hi,” said Mike, placing a hand on Harvey’s thigh.

“Hi, right back.” Harvey shifted toward Mike and kissed him softly. None of this was new to him, but he sensed a hesitancy in Mike that hadn’t been there earlier today. As he deepened the kiss, and felt Mike grow more, not less, tense under his hands, he realized with dim surprise that Mike was nervous.

Harvey lifted his head. “What do you want?” He’d play this however Mike chose.

Mike’s gaze shifted away, and then back again. “I … should probably just come right out and say it. I’ve never actually done this before … exactly. With a, you know, a guy. That is, I’ve been with a guy – a grand total of one – but never did ...”

“This?” Harvey finished for him.

Mike nodded.

Fierce joy surged through Harvey, followed by a tender sort of possessiveness, and a flutter of nerves which may have rivaled Mike’s. He ordered himself to remain calm. He hadn’t had a virgin ass to contend with since college, and tonight the stakes couldn’t have been higher. He had to get this right.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, even as he mind was screaming at him, wondering what the hell he was doing. “I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“Rush?” Mike gave a breathless laugh. “Might want to check your dictionary, if you actually believe we’re rushing into anything.” He stroked the back of his hand along Harvey’s jaw. “I’m ready. More than ready. I want you. Now. Tonight.” As if Harvey could have denied him, he added the one word guaranteed to get whatever he wanted from Harvey. “Please?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and pressed another kiss to Mike’s mouth.

When the kiss ended, Mike made as if to stand, but Harvey held onto his arm, keeping him in place.

“Wait. There’s something I want to say to you. I don’t know if this is the right time, but you should know.” His heart thudded against his ribs. It took a few slow, deep breaths to get his nerves under control.

“If you’re about to tell me this is your first time too …" began Mike.

“No. No, that’s not it.” Harvey took one of Mike’s hands in both of his, and kept his gaze fixed on it. “This probably doesn’t need to be said. That is, I’m sure you already know, but – ” He lifted his gaze to meet Mike’s and smiled at the way his brow wrinkled. “Okay. I’ll just say it. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I … I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with you.”

“Harvey, I –”

He stopped Mike's words with a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

Mike’s only response this time was to take Harvey’s hand and lead him to the bedroom.

 

******

 

_My fingers are inside Mike._

Harvey had dreamed of this – and more – for so long, and now that it was finally happening it seemed surreal. He was stroking inside Mike, into that dark heat, watching his fingers disappear, appear, disappear, feeling him slowly relax, slowly come undone just from this.

“Harvey,” Mike gasped. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Harvey murmured, continuing to target the bundle of nerves, making Mike gasp and wriggle his bottom.

“St-stop – ”

Harvey’s fingers stilled.

“No. Don’t stop. I mean, stop teasing. I want … _Ah, fuck!”_

This was in response to Harvey jamming three fingers in and at the same time biting down on the juncture of neck and shoulder. Mike’s hips shot forward, and then back, grinding down on Harvey’s fingers.

“What do you want? More of this?” Harvey finger-fucked him in earnest, pulling back and propping himself up with his other arm so he could watch Mike’s face.

“M-more,” Mike panted. “Your cock. In me.” His head tipped back, pressing into the pillow. “I want you to fuck me.” He whined in response to Harvey’s fingers speeding up. “Please, Harvey. I need you inside me.”

Harvey liked the sound of that. Need could easily turn into something more. He’d waited a long time for this, though, and couldn’t resist stringing it out. “You sure you’re ready?” he asked. Part of him wanted to punish Mike – in a good way – for making him wait all those years. “I could do this for hours. I love the way you feel, so hot and tight, pulling me in, squeezing me. God. I can feel your heartbeat with my fingertips.”

Mike groaned, sounding so desperate now that Harvey relented.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, and withdrew.

Mike squirmed on the bed, gaze fixed intently on his every movement. Harvey rolled on a condom, lubed up, urged Mike onto his side and slid behind him. Slowly, inch by careful inch, he pushed inside of him, stopping whenever Mike tensed, or grunted, or panted as if in pain. Harvey nibbled his ear, rubbed his nipples, and stroked him off until his grunts turned to breathy moans.

Finally, he was fully inside Mike, perspiration breaking out from the effort of not exploding right then. Mike’s ass was squeezing him so exquisitely, and he just wanted to rut and take his pleasure. Another time, he cautioned himself. This time was for Mike, and his pleasure came first.

“How’s that feel?” he asked directly into Mike’s ear.

Mike grimaced. “Weird,” he said in a strained voice.

“Bad weird, or good weird?”

“Just … weird.” Mike shoved back, gasped, and then breathed slowly out. Harvey could feel him relax. “Maybe move?”

“We’ll start out slow. Stop me if you need to.”

Harvey dragged out, thrust slowly back in, and repeated the motion, his movements so slow that it felt like the most delicious sort of torture. “You.” He kissed the back of Mike’s neck. “Feel.” He dragged his fingers up Mikes inner thigh. “So.” He circled his cock with his palm. “Fucking good.”

“Ah, _fuck._ You too. More of that, please. Faster. Harder.”

_Oh, absolutely._

Harvey pushed Mike onto his stomach, yanked his hips up, and began fucking him with more force. “Still … okay?” he panted.

“God, Harvey,” Mike moaned, “how does that feel so good?”

Bracing a hand on the wall above the bed, Harvey rocked in and out of Mike, gaining speed, unable to look away from what he could see of Mike’s face, and his expression of shocked delight.

“Why,” Mike gasped, whimpering as Harvey reached for his cock to stroke him in time to his thrusts. ”Why did we wait so long? Wh-why ….”

Whatever else he meant to say was swallowed up by his howl of joy as he came, erupting into the sheets, convulsing and shuddering. The sight of Mike coming for him sent Harvey over the edge in three more frantic strokes. With arms wrapped around Mike’s middle, he gasped curses into the top of his head, vision whiting out for long seconds.

When he pulled out, got rid of the condom, and rolled onto his back, Mike flopped on top of him, burrowing his face into Harvey’s shoulder. Both of them were asleep within minutes. As Harvey drifted off, he imagined he could hear Mike’s voice, soft as a sigh, whispering into his skin.

_Stay. Stayyyyy._

_Not fair,_ came his own soundless rebuttal. Even so, the word slid into his flesh, down into his cells, and inhabited his restless dreams.

_Stay._


	9. Chapter 9

At the Primrose Bakery the next morning, the woman behind the counter greeted them as if they were old friends, even remembering Mike’s first name. When Harvey led Mike onto the deck with a hand at his waist, a couple of other customers directed friendly nods in their direction. Later, they stopped into the General Store for water and snacks, and Becca smiled at him with a cheerful, “Hey, Harvey.”

It was starting to freak him out.

“How much did you pay them?” he asked Mike while they waited for the ferry to San Juan Island to finish tying up at the Orcas dock.

“Pay who?”

“The Stepford locals. It’s not natural to be so friendly.”

“That was weird, right? And I didn’t pay them a thing. I guess that’s just their thing here, like flashing their lights when you pass them on the road to, you know, say ‘hey’.”

Harvey grunted, refusing to be seduced by all the aggressive niceness. None of those Bambis would last five minutes in Manhattan, but he was diplomatic enough not to say so out loud.

They’d chosen to leave the car on Orcas and walk onto the ferry. The trip to the other island was as quick as promised, which Harvey thought was a shame. It was another perfect fall day and the views across the water were outstanding. The ferry made brief stops at Lopez and Shaw Islands, which appeared to be sparsely populated. By contrast, Friday Harbor on San Juan Island was a veritable metropolis. A sizeable marina held hundreds of sailboats, powerboats, and even a few smallish yachts. Stores, hotels, and houses were arrayed along tidy streets.

A five-minute walk brought them to _Island Electronics_ , where Harvey let Mike talk him into the same latest and (allegedly) greatest iPhone that he’d selected for himself. They left the store loaded down with matching phones and pricey accessories. With time to kill before the next ferry back to Orcas Island, they strolled through the town, checking out two antique stores, and coming across a farmer’s market selling autumn fruit and flowers and local crafts. One of the food booths offered paella. Seduced by the aroma, they each ordered a bowl and sat down at a picnic table to eat their lunch.

“This is almost an actual town,” said Harvey, washing down a mouthful of the fragrant dish with a swallow of too-sweet lemonade. “This, here, might be bearable for more than a day or three days at a time. Not like … what was it? Helga? Hilda?” He remembered the name but enjoyed the expression of faux-outrage on Mike’s face too much to pass up an opportunity to tease.

“Olga. And Olga comes with this, and with Eastsound and Anacortes and Seattle.”

“It doesn’t count if you can’t step out your front door and walk a block or two to get there. By your reasoning, Olga also comes with Paris, since it’s only a car ride, a ferry ride, another car ride, and a plane ride away.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“I’m not – ” Harvey halted the rant queuing up on his tongue and instead said mildly, “In Manhattan, you don’t have to fly to Paris, because it’s … Manhattan.”

“Have you ever been to Paris?”

“Well, no. I’ve never had the time.”

“Exactly. If we lived in Olga, you’d have the time.”

Harvey supposed he should give himself a congratulatory pat on the back for what an accomplished debater Mike had developed into. More than a little of that was his doing. Right now, however, Mike’s skills were beginning to grate on his nerves. Polishing off the last sausage slice and bite of rice in his bowl, Harvey pointed his finger at the first thing that caught his eye. “Oh, look. Chocolate chip cheesecake. Just what the day deserves.”

Mike’s sidewise glance at Harvey was suspicious, but he allowed himself to be distracted.

 

******

 

While Mike went in search of a restroom, Harvey pulled out his new phone to check his email. He was still struggling to figure out how to set it up when Mike returned. With a fond-sounding huff, he snatched the phone from Harvey’s fingers and had him all squared away in less than a minute.

Ninety-eight unread messages. Not bad for one whole day off the grid. Harvey steeled himself and set to work wading through his mail and texts, using a heavier than usual hand to delete the majority of them. He needed to go on an unsubscribing and blocking spree one day soon, he decided. A few messages could not be ignored. Vanessa had been looking for him since before his phone was baptized. He replied to let her know he was alive and well, and he didn’t need her for anything else.

He almost didn’t respond to a frantic email from Louis. He had sort of left him in the lurch, though, so he gave it a minute of thought, typed out, “Let the big dog eat,” judged that Louis wouldn’t get the reference, and changed it to, “cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.” Then, not waiting for an answer from Louis, he turned off the phone.

Glancing up, he caught a curious look on Mike’s face.

“It’s okay,” said Harvey. “Just Louis being Louis. He’ll figure it out.” He nodded at Mike’s phone. “Anybody trying to reach you?”

“Miranda. She quit and needs a reference. Laura Zane. Vanessa, wanting to know if I’d seen you lately. And fourteen – ” The phone chimed. “Nope, make that fifteen requests for interviews. I’m wanted on Meet the Press, Maddow, Hannity – ”

“Hannity?”

“Probably wants to shout me down and proclaim me fool and traitor.”

“Are you planning to respond to any of them?”

Mike shook his head and changed the subject, pointing towards the water. “The ferry’s getting close. We’d better get back to the terminal.”

 

******

 

Back at cabin one, they spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, alternately fucking and trying to outdo one another over who could come up with the geekiest ringtone. Harvey thought he had him beat with the theme from _Farscape_ , but Mike rallied with the vintage sounds of a dial-up modem. He accepted his prize – a slow, expertly delivered blow job from Harvey – with a series of earsplitting yells that may have shook loose a family of squirrels and had them grabbing their nuts and scurrying for a safer neighborhood.

Dinner consisted of a return trip to the _Eagle’s Loft._ They shared a half-amused, half-horrified look when the owner greeted them by their first names, after which they were treated to another world-class meal that had them groaning and vowing to go for a long run in the morning.

They ended up burning the excess calories that night through more horizontal pursuits – with right angles, a rhombus, and something resembling a starfish thrown in. Much later, Mike woke him up with a not so expertly delivered blow job which was spine-melting despite the rudimentary technique. If any squirrels, chipmunks, raccoon or deer had stopped by to greet the dawn at cabin one, they were surely driven halfway across the island by Harvey’s emphatic expressions of appreciation.

 

******

 

After three days in a row, they were officially regulars at the _Primrose Bakery_. Norm from _Cheers_ had never received as many enthusiastic greetings as they did when they walked in the door. Testing a theory, Harvey grabbed hold of Mike’s hand on the way in. Perhaps one customer’s eyelid twitched disapprovingly – although it might have been an innocent facial tic – but the rest of the locals appeared unfazed. Harvey wondered if Becca had already spread the word about them.

Thus far, the atmosphere on Orcas Island was far too idyllic for Harvey’s peace of mind. He half-expected a zombie outbreak or Wicker Man situation to develop at any moment. The day, and the week, stretched on without any sign of either. He tried to remind Mike of what he’d be missing back in Manhattan by wondering out loud if you could even get a decent bagel here (no, but the cinnamon rolls and homemade croissants made up for that), or a hot dog (yes, the _Dempsey Bar & Grill_ in Eastsound had that covered), or an evening at the theater.

This last was a stretch, since Harvey hadn’t actually taken in many shows back home. Mike, however, pointed out that Orcas Island had an airport, and planes which could be hired for the flight to Seattle, where they could find Broadway hits that were only a few years old, along with an apparently interesting and diverse local theater scene. (“Apparently,” because Mike was just as unlikely as Harvey to make the time to attend a show.) So, in theory, it was possible, and since they weren’t Louis or Donna-level theater geeks, that particular argument fizzled quickly.

They continued to explore the island. Mount Constitution was conquered with a harrowing drive up steep, narrow switchbacks. At about 2,400 feet above sea level, this was the tallest spot on the island – on all the islands in this part of the world. A fake-medieval watch tower in a rocky clearing looked out over expansive views of Puget Sound and its green-humped islands, between which container ships and tankers headed to or from port in Seattle and Vancouver. Low clouds which had blown in overnight obscured the far distances. According to Mike, on a clear day you could see all the way to Canada, which was actually relatively close.

A thick, waist-high stone wall bounded the edge of the outlook. They stood by the wall, gazing out into the thickening mist, each lost in their own thoughts. Straining to see what lay past the clouds, Harvey couldn’t help but make the obvious comparison to the future of their relationship. He believed he could predict with a fair degree of accuracy what the next few days would bring, but beyond that? Storm clouds were brewing, blowing inexorably closer.

They were alone for the moment, so Harvey turned to face Mike, pulling him in for a tender kiss. “We can come back,” he murmured with an optimism he didn’t feel, “when the weather clears.”

“Sure,” said Mike, turning his head away in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the unhappy twist of his lips.

From there, they made a return trip to Olga. Mike insisted they take another look at the house, as if he needed to assure himself it was still there, still as he remembered it. It was, not that Harvey regarded that as a positive.

After a thorough inspection of the place, they walked down to the waterfront and out onto the pier to get a closer look at the boats tied up there, slipping a bit in the slimy film of moss that covered the surface of the dock.

The further out they got over the water, the more the low clouds seemed to close in around them, cool droplets of moisture clinging to their skin and hair and clothes. Mike clutched his hand tightly, communicating a panicky sort of desperation, as if he’d lose Harvey in the mist if he didn’t keep a firm enough grip on him.

They held each other, and kissed for long minutes out in the fog, cut off from the rest of the world. Harvey felt Mike shiver in his arms, and pulled him closer, pressing their cheeks together as they stared off in opposite directions.

Hidden by the fog, he found the courage to repeat what he’d already confessed to Mike. “I love you.”

This time, he got the answer he’d been hoping for. “Love you too, Harvey.”

He pretended not to hear the marrow-deep sadness in Mike’s soft voice.

 

******

 

Mike surprised him that evening by announcing that he’d made them dinner reservations at Rosario Resort.

“What’s wrong with the _Eagle’s Loft?,”_ asked Harvey. He’d been looking forward to another chance at their homemade ice cream.

“There are other restaurants on the island, and I’ve heard this one is pretty good.”

Mike had obviously done his homework. The resort was located halfway between Eastsound and Olga, with an attached marina and beautiful views over the water. Harvey wondered idly if he’d ever tire of these views.

According to a brochure Harvey found in the lobby, the main building had been built over a century ago by a wealthy shipbuilder and former mayor of Seattle who’d retired here for health reasons. Over the years, the huge estate had changed owners a number of times, and been expanded with new buildings after it was converted to a resort. The interior of the main building had been decorated with exquisite taste. The brochure also boasted glossy photos of guest rooms which were equally luxurious and well-appointed.

“What aren’t we staying here?” asked Harvey, impressed in spite of himself. Mike didn’t answer, so he added, “And why are we here so early? I’m not sure my appetite could do the ‘exceptional Northwest cuisine’ justice.”

Mike colored slightly, and he pointed to the section in the brochure about the onsite spa. “I may have booked us for a couple’s massage before dinner.”

“May have – hold on, if there is any mud involved …"

“God, no. Just a couple of strangers putting their hands all over us, while we melt into mutual puddles of mush next to one another.”

“Sounds romantic.”

And it was, sort of, even if they were only touching one another by proxy. Harvey was definitely a puddle of mush by the end of the hour. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt so relaxed.

In the dining room, the delicious local wine and ‘exceptional Northwest cuisine’ relaxed him further. Slurping down oysters and peeling boiled, garlicky prawns to suck out the meat – and watching Mike do the same across the candlelit table – had never seemed so darkly erotic before.

By the time they stumbled back into cabin one, Harvey was ready to peel Mike like a prawn and suck him everywhere.

“What do you want, baby?” he mumbled against his skin, struggling to get them both out of their clothes while at the same time steering them toward the bedroom.

“I want,” Mike panted. He kissed Harvey hard. “I want … to fuck you. Do you … can I …?”

It took only a few seconds consideration before Harvey realized that, yes, he liked that idea. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Oh, yeah.”

Mike took charge of the proceedings, proving that as ever, he was a remarkably fast learner. He had them naked and on the bed in no time at all.

“I want to try something,” he said, arranging Harvey on his hands and knees, and repositioning himself behind him.

Harvey had opened his mouth to warn him that it had been years since he’d bottomed, but all that came out was a surprised squawk as he felt Mike’s tongue lick a circle around his hole, tracing a slow, maddening spiral to the center, and then prodding delicately.

“Fuck,” Harvey whispered. Mike tongued into him, and Harvey grabbed one of the pillows for moral support.

Mike muttered something, words garbled because _he had his tongue inside Harvey._

 _“_ Wh-what?”

“I said, do you like that?”

“Fewer questions, more tongue.”

Mike plunged back in, working Harvey’s ass with quick, forceful stabs.

“Jesus,” he breathed, beginning to worry that he’d come right then, just from the Mike’s tongue.

Perhaps sensing this, Mike pulled back. Harvey groaned in disappointment, but that didn’t last for long. Soon enough, Mike’s lubed finger probed his entrance, easing its way in, testing the territory.

“You’re right,” said Mike, with something like wonder in his voice.

“About …?”

“The way you clench around my finger, like your body wants to pull my hand all the way in.”

A weak chuckle from Harvey. “Another time, maybe. Your finger is plenty for the moment.” Half a minute later, though, it didn’t feel like nearly enough. “More,” he rasped.

“More what?”

“Fingers. Cock. Both.”

As Mike gently finger-fucked him, adding another, and another, his other hand caressed Harvey’s ass cheek.  “Are you going to beg for it, or what?”

Nobody but Mike could get away with that. Nobody but Mike made it seem like the most natural, desirable thing in the world to lay his forehead on his folded arms and moan beseechingly, “Please, baby. Please fuck me. I need you. I need …"

“Roll over.”

More than willing to give Mike whatever he wanted, Harvey rolled onto his back and gazed up at him. His mouth went dry at the sight of Mike kneeling on the bed, rolling a condom onto his long, hard cock. Harvey’s sphincter tightened in … he decided to call it awe, rather than the fear it probably was.

Still focusing intently, Mike stroked lube onto his cock, hissing softly. He was as close to the edge as Harvey. Their eyes met. Mike gave him a slow smile, and Harvey’s tension dissolved. His legs fell further apart, inviting Mike closer, and then he grasped himself behind the knees and lifted up, putting himself on display.

“Christ, Harvey. That’s … I’m not going to last.”

“I don’t care. All I know is, I want you inside me.”

Mike shifted closer, lined himself up, and pressed in. Harvey grunted, remembering why he didn’t normally allow this, but urged Mike to continue, focusing on the look on his face, the way his eyes widened, and he bit his lower lip. Harvey let out another involuntary grunt, and Mike froze.

“Am I hurting you?”

The truthful answer would have been, _yes._ Harvey exhaled slowly, willing himself to relax and accept the intrusion. “How does that feel?” he asked, deflecting.

Mike let out a guttural groan, sounding as if he, too, was in pain. “Amazing. Too much? I don’t know. I feel like you’ve got me in a vise. But in a good way. I don’t think I can – ”

“Go on and move. It’s okay. You realize I have done this before, right?” He wrapped his legs around Mike’s back, urging him on.

Mike carefully pulled almost all the way out, and eased back in, repeated the motions, gaining more ground with each thrust. By the fourth repetition, Harvey was in better shape, panting heavily and sinking into the dark pleasure.

“Yeah. That’s it. That’s good. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

When Mike continued the slow, careful movements, Harvey tightened his legs and locked his ankles, lifting up to meet Mike’s thrusts.

“It’s okay, baby,” he gritted, demonstrating how he wanted it, “go on and wreck me.”

At that, Mike sucked in a quick breath and let go of his restraint. He rocked into Harvey, finding the rhythm, muttered something that sounded like, “Cry havoc,” and slid smoothly into high gear, pounding away for long minutes.

In danger of being bounced headfirst into the wall behind him, Harvey braced his hands on the wall and did his best to give as good as he got. Mike’s movements grew wilder, and he pressed his head to Harvey’s shoulder, starting to shake apart. Harvey wrestled one hand between them to get hold of his own cock, stroking furiously, and coming with near-violence as Mike still shook and pulsed inside of him.

The echoes of their mingled cries faded. Mike remained buried inside of him, still twitching, still wrapped up in Harvey’s legs and arms. If Harvey could have frozen time in that instant, he would have.

That was impossible, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! (I think …)


	10. Chapter 10

Too soon, the week was over. They’d spent nearly every minute together, except for one afternoon when Mike had disappeared for two hours, taking the rental car for an unnamed errand. Now, it was the morning of the seventh day.

Mike slept, or pretended to. Raindrops plonked and plopped against the roof and windows. The black of night lightened to watery grey. Harvey propped himself on one arm, watching Mike. He set a fingertip against the puckered scar on Mike’s shoulder, healed but still pink. Baseball wasn’t the only game of inches, he mused. Life itself hinged on the smallest things, a shift of wind, an unexpected stop or start. Mike had come so close to dying the day of the shooting, that thinking about it made Harvey dizzy with something like vertigo.

He traced the scar, concentrating on outlining it with precision. Hearing a swift intake of breath, he shifted his gaze to find Mike staring up at him, eyes dark with emotion. Harvey wanted to kiss him, burned with the need to press his naked body to Mike’s and lose himself in sensation.

They’d put off this conversation for too long, though, and time had expired.

 “Good morning,” he said, and then, because there seemed no point in delaying, briskly added, “decision time.”

Mike’s gaze skittered away, and back again. “Already?”

“Afraid so.” He brushed a lock of hair off Mike’s forehead. “I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed this week more than any I can remember. Enough is enough, though. It’s time to go home.”

Mike’s eyes clouded, and he rolled onto his side, away from Harvey. “We can have a home here.”

A silent sigh escaped Harvey. “I have a home in Manhattan. I have a law firm, clients, friends, professional contacts, treasured enemies, a health club membership, a barber, a boxing gym, a tailor, a – ”

“A frequent diner card from the local pizza place with two more punches until you get a free pie?” Mike laughed, harsh and mocking. “That’s all extraneous bullshit. Most of those connections happened purely as geographical accidents. You could have new people here, new connections. Are you so goddamn set in your ways that you can’t even consider it?”

“But I have, for a whole week. In between all the excursions you’ve dragged me on, and the time we spent in this bed, I haven’t done much else.

Mike rolled off the bed and stood, hopping into a pair of jeans and pulling on a sweatshirt. Dressed, he turned to face Harvey. “You know what I think? You didn’t consider it at all. You only pretended to. You took the week to fuck me every way you could think of, to make promises – implicit, not explicit – that you never intended to keep. Or maybe you did at first, but now you’ve concluded that the sex was good, but not good enough.” His jaw tightened as he spat out, “You came to the conclusion that I wasn’t good enough for you to give up your precious home.” Pivoting on his heel, he strode out of the room.

“Whoa. Mike …" Harvey stood, wrapping the quilt around his waist and following Mike out to the living room, where he watched him build up the fire, stunned by Mike’s accusations. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? I should have gotten the message years ago. I was never good enough. _God._ All those women you paraded in front of me. Probably men, too. You did it with Tanner didn’t you? Cameron Dennis? Who else?”

As Harvey’s shock wore off, anger grew. “That is none of your goddamn business. And let me remind you, I didn’t move in with any of them. I didn’t marry any of them.”

“Like I married Rachel?” Rising smoothly to his full height, Mike turned toward him, expression dark. “Are you seriously telling me this whole week was about payback? Because that is fucking petty, even for you.”

“No!” Harvey took a moment to reel his emotions back in. This was not going at all the way he’d imagined. “Look, Mike. Sweetheart. Everything I said and did this week was real. Payback? Just the fact that you could say that, that you could _think_ that … Don’t you get it yet? I love you. I want to be with you.”

“Just not here. Not in the place where I want to be. You closed your mind to the idea from the very beginning.”

“Like you closed your mind to New York?”

“Not the same thing. I’ve lived in New York. I don’t need you or anyone else to rattle off the pros and cons.”

“Maybe we should do that. Let’s make a list, compare both places point by point. I know which one would come out on top, and you damn well do too.”

Mike dropped down into the rocking chair, rubbing his forehead as if he was in pain. “I can’t go back there. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Chewing on his thumbnail, Mike’s gaze went unfocused, staring through Harvey at something only he could see. His voice dropped to a raw, tortured whisper. “It’s not safe there. It’s not safe anywhere. Rachel was shot just a few feet from our front door. _God, she screamed._ And then she bled. She bled everywhere. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I couldn’t stop any of it. What if –” His voice began to rise in volume, growing more agitated. “What if it happens again? What if next time you’re the one bleeding out on a dirty sidewalk?”

Harvey dropped to his haunches next to the chair, placing a hand on Mike’s arm. “That’s not going to happen. I’ve lived in the city all my life. It’s as safe there as it is anywhere else in this country.”

“Not as safe as it is here. What happened to me and Rachel wouldn’t happen here.”

“Sorry, but that argument doesn’t hold water. For every unspeakable act that occurs in a small community, there’s always someone claiming, ‘I never thought it could happen here.’ Which is absurd. Monsters live everywhere. Terrible things happen everywhere.”

“Not here. Can’t you feel it, Harvey? Can’t you feel the peace here? It’s in the air, and the water, and the trees. We’ll be safe here. I know it.”

Harvey shook his head, a feeling of helplessness building inside of him. “You’re speaking from a place of fear. You can’t base your life on that. I refuse to. If there’s a bullet somewhere out there with my name on it, sooner or later it’s going to find me. I’m not saying I think there is, but I’d rather live life on my own terms, than hide out and cower in fear, waiting for some tragedy that might or might not occur.”

Shaking off Harvey’s hand, Mike stood and took a step back. “I guess that’s that, then. You’ve made up your mind. We both have. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s too late.”

Harvey stood too. “What the hell does that mean? You’re going to throw away everything that’s good between us because you’re too bullheaded or too scared of your own shadow to compromise?”

“Compromise? I haven’t heard you propose any compromise.”

It wasn’t easy, but Harvey managed to hold onto his temper. “Okay, for instance, we could buy a place here, and come out a couple times a year, even spend the whole summer here. I don’t hate the place, which is maybe the biggest surprise to come out of this week. I could work something out with Louis, cut back on my work schedule.” He was improvising, pulling ideas out of the air to keep the discussion from shutting down completely.

“Or,” countered Mike, “we could live here, and keep your place in Manhattan as a vacation spot.”

“Damn it, Mike. Why are you being so stubborn? Are you that terrified about returning to the world? You lived in it just fine for decades, and now one isolated incident is going to rule you? I have to say, I never took you for such a coward.”

The color drained from Mike’s face and he lifted his chin. “If I’m a coward, I’m not the only one in the room. Maybe we’re just afraid of different things.” His chest heaved once, and then he spoke again, soft and emphatic. “I finalized the sale two days ago. The money’s been wired, and the house is mine.”

A brief silence filled the room as Harvey absorbed this.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me. I bought the house. I’m staying. I thought … I’d hoped you would stay with me. I was going to ask … I bought champagne. I had a whole speech ready to go. I thought maybe you loved me enough to say yes.”

Harvey barely heard him. He was struggling to process what he perceived as Mike’s betrayal. They’d had an agreement, one which Mike had apparently had no intention of honoring. He shook his head slowly. “And I thought maybe you loved me enough not to go behind my back. Not to manipulate me with your sad little speech about Rachel. Not to throw this grotesque _fait accompli_ at my feet and expect me to swallow it down with a fucking smile on my face.”

Mike’s expression turned hard. “If you really loved me, you’d stay.”

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t demand that of me.”

He waited, but evidently the argument was done, and the hell of it was, it all felt sickeningly inevitable, as if he’d always known in his gut that this is how the week would end. How they would end.

Mike went into the kitchen, and fumbled with the coffeemaker, keeping his back to Harvey.

Harvey glared at the back of his head, too infuriated to speak. Anger burned away the tender feelings from only minutes earlier, set reason ablaze, and sent him storming toward the exit. Before the water started trickling through the filter, Harvey had gathered up his clothes and headed back to cabin two, slamming the door behind him with a satisfying crash that shook the walls.

In a rage which was composed of at least fifty percent frustration, he packed, cursing Mike, cursing the island, cursing himself for ever imagining this thing between the two of them could ever amount to anything. By the time he had dropped the key to cabin two through the slot in the office door and had navigated up the bumpy dirt road to Enchanted Forest Road (and really, what the hell kind of name was that?), anger and frustration had been joined by sick grief.

He couldn’t believe it was over. Couldn’t believe all those years of pining for Mike had ended with Mike betraying him. The rain began to fall in earnest, and he switched his wipers to high. Mike had actually implied that Harvey had been … what? Playing him? As if everything Harvey had admitted to this week had been a lie. As if all those soft kisses and gentle touches had been an act.

He frowned, remembering more of Mike’s words. Not good enough for Harvey? Is that what he thought? Did he really imagine that was how Harvey felt? Did he still see Harvey as that heartless, emotionless bastard he had named him during their first year together?

Harvey’s face felt tight. He couldn’t seem to draw a decent breath, and his eyes burned. He gave his head a quick shake. No tears. Not going to happen. He pressed his foot to the accelerator determined to get off the fucking island as soon as possible.

“We gave it a try,” he muttered, as if the dashboard required an explanation. “Now we know. Nothing more to wonder about. Just another bad idea in a lifetime of bad ideas. Just another – ”

He didn’t see the deer until it was almost too late. The car roared around a curve, skidding on the wet pavement, and there it was, standing in the road, nearly obscured by sheeting rain. Harvey cursed, stomped on the brakes, and yanked the wheel to the right. The car fishtailed, plowed through tree branches and low bushes on the side of the road, and lurched to an abrupt stop on a patch of gravel in front of a long driveway. Something hard hit the floor behind him and skidded under the seat, striking the back of his foot.

As he watched, the deer gave him a long stare, and then paced calmly across the road to disappear in the undergrowth.

“Fuck,” Harvey breathed, pressing a hand to his pounding heart. Was the island trying to kill him? That would make a perfect exclamation point to the week. There went Mike’s claims about how safe the place was.

When he could breathe normally again, he leaned down and felt around behind his foot to find what had knocked into him. Paper crinkled under his touch. He pulled the _Orcas Artworks_ shopping bag up and stared at it, perplexed for a few seconds until he remembered. He’d bought those two mugs there a week ago.

He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to do that. Reaching into the bag, he lifted one of the carefully wrapped objects, peeling back the paper to reveal the piece of pottery. Blue grey, with flecks of gold and teal. His heart, which had just begun to calm after the close call with the deer, sped up again. He’d picked these because the blue exactly matched the color of Mike’s eyes when they opened, heavy-lidded and relaxed, after coming in Harvey’s hand.

As he’d paid for the mugs, a future scene had flashed through his mind in minute detail: waking up before Mike, getting up to brew the coffee (after they purchased a better coffeemaker), carrying the two mugs back to the bedroom, and gently waking Mike with a two-pronged attack of aromatic coffee and soft kisses. After that, they’d go out on the deck together, maybe wrapped up in blankets if it was an especially cold morning, and watch the local forest creatures crawl and skitter around them as if they knew the humans and accepted them as just more of the local wildlife.

He wanted that. He yearned for mornings exactly like that with a longing so fierce and sudden it felt like pain. He’d thought what he wanted more than anything was to have Mike with him back home in New York. It occurred to him now that the location didn’t matter, not like he’d thought it had. He traced a thumb around the rim of the mug, feeling the subtle imperfections, and then wrapped it back up, placed it in the bag next to its partner, and set the bag on the seat next to him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed in and out, trying to settle his chaotic thoughts and emotions. _Shit._ What was he running from? He looked up the road, in the direction which would take him to the ferry terminal, and from there, home.

_Right_.

Home. His beautiful, stylish, sterile, lonely apartment in Manhattan. In his mind, he counted off the lovers he’d sent away from there over the years: Scottie, Donna, Ted, Paula, Sean, all the nameless, forgotten one-night stands. In the meantime, he’d looked on as Jessica, and Louis and Alex and even Donna met and won their loves.

He’d found his own love years ago in a meeting room at the Chilton Hotel, and maybe their story had taken a longer, more circuitous path, but they’d been there – they’d finally been _right there,_ goddamn it _._

He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Fuck,” he groaned. “What am I doing?”

Rain beat down on the roof of the car, harder and more insistent. As Harvey sat there, unmoving, he was startled out of his reverie by three loud, angry sounding blares. He looked up to find a pickup truck with a middle-aged couple in the front seat, the turn signal indicating their desire to turn into the driveway he was blocking. Harvey gave the couple a weary, apologetic wave, put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. He took a quick glance down at the bag with the mugs in it. Without giving himself time to think it over, he tapped the brakes and cranked the wheel, executing a sharp, skidding U-turn.

Keeping his speed to just over the limit, he raced back toward Beach Vista, not knowing what he would say when he got there, but certain that leaving was the wrong move. Traffic was light this time of day. He passed three or four vehicles heading in the opposite direction. Each one flashed their lights at him one time, and he did the same in return. He still thought it was a weird custom, but had fallen in line with this local version of proper etiquette days earlier.

Around another curve he entered a long, straight stretch of road. Headlights approached from the other direction. They blinked off and then on again. Blinked again, and again. Kept blinking. Harvey huffed in annoyance. Kids, maybe. Or, had he left his high beams on? He checked. Nope. Just some jerk with an odd sense of humor, then.

He passed the other vehicle – a blue mini-van, he saw now – in the middle of the straight stretch, and kept driving, prepared to write the incident off as strange, but insignificant. In his rear-view mirror, he saw the van’s brake lights come on, then it swung around and came racing at him, headlights still blinking on and off in some aggressive form of Morse code he couldn’t begin to interpret. The flashing headlights gained on him until the van’s bumper was only inches from his.

“The fuck?” What was this idiot trying to prove? Had Harvey offended someone on the island without realizing it? Should he try to outrun whoever the maniac was, or stop to confront them? He peered in the rearview mirror as he tried to keep at least one eye on the road. He was well and truly alarmed – and then shocked when a familiar head stuck out the passenger window, joined by an arm that waved frantically at the road’s shoulder.

Confused, Harvey pulled over. The van slid to a stop behind him and Mike got out to run toward him through pelting rain. Harvey rolled down the driver’s side window.

“Are you crazy?” Harvey asked.

“I don’t know. Yes, I might be. I just couldn’t let you leave like you did.”

“So, you thought you’d run me off the road?”

“That was Red’s idea. He gave me a ride.” Mike turned to wave at the mini-van, which took off down the road. Harvey caught a glimpse of Red Guntherson at the wheel, grinning maniacally as he passed them.

Mike stared at Harvey through the open window, rain soaking his hair and running down his face, eyes lit with hope, and what was, without a doubt, love.

“Get in before you drown.” Harvey pointed at the passenger seat. While Mike jogged around the front of the car, Harvey carefully placed the _Orcas Artworks_ bag in the backseat. Mike climbed inside.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Mike blurted, sounding both hopeful and astonished, “You came back.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I forgot something.”

“Oh.” The hope dimmed.

“I forgot the lessons of the past eight years.”

Hope rallied. “What lessons?”

Harvey sighed, gaze lifted to the ceiling. Rain poured down all around them. He struggled to marshal his words, to explain.

“I saw it coming from miles away,” he began. “Your wedding to Rachel. I was ready for it. I never imagined that your wedding day would be the worst day of my life. I was fully prepared to be happy for you. I wanted you to be happy, and to get everything you wanted in life. But then you told me you were leaving and – ”

He exhaled slowly, wrestling down the remembered grief. “It felt like a mortal blow, or as close to one as a person could sustain and still keep breathing. And then – ”

“Harvey –”

“Wait. Let me finish. And then you were shot, and during those hours on the plane, flying to get to you, when I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, I figured that was the worst. Nothing could top that.  At least there was still hope, though, that I’d see you again. When you disappeared from your hotel room … when you walked out of my life without a goodbye, I figured, that was it. We’d used up all our chances. But I found you again, and we’re here, finally together the way I’d always wanted us to be, and my God, Mike, I’d be the worst idiot in the history of idiots if I walked away from this now.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, yes. If keeping you means living here for the rest of my life, then yes. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll stay.”

Mike’s eyes had gone wider and wider as Harvey spoke. Now he turned away, staring out the side window. He laughed, sounding half-hysterical. “Oh, shit.” A quick glance at Harvey, and then back to staring out the window “Do you know why I came after you? Why I dragged Red out of bed and shoved a stack of twenties at him to get him to drive me to the ferry terminal?”

“I can guess, but I’d rather let you tell me.”

“I came after you to tell you I’d go. To beg you to stop being angry with me and take me with you.” He turned in his seat to meet Harvey’s surprised gaze, his own expression cautious and faintly amused. “Looks like we’ve got a bit of a quandary here.”

Sweet relief flooded Harvey. “A real pickle.” He pursed his lips. “You’re really prepared to return to New York?”

“You’re really prepared to stay here?”

They both laughed. “Now what?” asked Harvey.

Mike appeared to think about it. “I’d say there’s only one thing to do at a time like this.” He withdrew a quarter from his pocket.

“Flip a coin? Are you serious? Shouldn’t we draw up that list of pros and cons instead?”

“Don’t you see, Harvey? We both want to be together. That much is clear. It’s also clear that we both have our preferences over where we end up living. In the end, one of us is going to win, and one of us is going to lose. How is a list going to change that?”

Harvey held up a hand, an idea forming. He tested it out in his head, and decided it wasn’t half bad. “Okay, first of all, we both win in the sense that we’ll be together. Can we agree that is the primary objective?”

“Sure.”

“Then, as far as our choice of location goes, maybe we should both lose something. We’ve been stuck on this either/or dichotomy. These two islands, Manhattan and Orcas, are not the only places in the world. Why don’t we put our heads together and pick a place neither one of us ever expected to live, but where we can both be happy?”

“I’m happy – ”

“You know what I mean. Happy with our surroundings, not just each other.”

“It might take a while to find the right place.”

“I’ve got a few months to kill, how about you?”

“Same.”

Harvey reached for the gearshift but stopped as something occurred to him. “What about the house in Olga? Do you think you’ll be able to sell it?”

Mike’s mouth gave a sheepish twist. “I, uh, might have sort of, slightly, lied about that. The only thing I wired to Deacon was earnest money. The place still needs an inspection, and all that good stuff. Plus, I’d never have done anything final without telling you. I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“You’re such a little shit sometimes.” Harvey spoke fondly, without heat. “You do realize you’re going to lose your earnest money, right?”

“If that’s all I lose today, I’m good with that.”

That deserved a kiss. They sat there on the side of the road, rain pounding down, and sealed the bargain with a kiss that lasted so long, they received more than one loud honk as cars zipped past them.

Finally, Harvey broke away. They were both breathing hard. He reached into the backseat and retrieved the _Orcas Artworks_ shopping bag. “It’s not flowers,” he said. _Or a ring,_ he did not say. “But it’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

He watched as Mike tore into the wrapping and lifted out one of the mugs. He rotated it, examining it from all angles, tracing the gold flecks with one finger. “Huh. That’s nice. I like it.”

“There’s two of them. They match.” Harvey took the other one and pulled paper out of the way to show Mike. “See? His and his.”

A smile stretched across Mike’s face. “I take it back. I don’t like them. I love them.”

Which called for another kiss.

 

 

**Six Months Later**

 

Harvey never set his alarm anymore, but he was usually up before the sun. This morning, he was surprised to find Mike awake before him, already halfway through his first mug of coffee, perched tensely on the edge of the sofa with the television turned to CNN.

“Do you have an early meeting?” asked Harvey, tilting his chin to adjust the knot in his tie.

“No. I got a text from Miranda reminding me about the bill signing today. As if I could forget. I couldn’t get back to sleep.” He pointed the remote at the television to mute the sound, drawing Harvey’s attention to the screen.

It was a scene that had replayed so many times in various iterations over the past few years that it had lost its shock value. A nightclub in Denver had been shot up. Eight dead. Dozens injured. Even with the volume turned off, Mike’s attention remained riveted on the screen.

“Why don’t you turn that off?” Harvey suggested, voice gentle. When Mike made no move to do so, Harvey sat next to him, pried the remote from his fingers and clicked the television off. “Didn’t Dr. Gable caution you about obsessing over stories like that?”

“I’m not obsessing. It just came on. And maybe if more people obsessed about it, something might actually change.”

“It is changing. It’s going to change today.”

“Yeah,” Mike muttered, “if that moron actually signs the bill.”

Harvey recalled that Mike had made similar comments when the bump stock ban had been debated in Congress. _Those idiots will never pass a bill like that. The NRA owns all their worthless asses._ It had passed, though, and Harvey believed that the current occupant of the White House, moron though he may be, would sign the thing today, and then claim the victory for himself. When you got right down to it, it was Mike’s victory. If he hadn’t argued the court case so eloquently, hadn’t gotten that miraculous settlement, this bill never would have come about, or it would have been many more years until anything like it came up for consideration again.

“He’ll sign,” said Harvey. “You should be proud of your part in it. You did this. You made this happen.”

Harvey picked up Mike’s mug and carried it to the kitchen, where he refilled it and poured himself a mug. As he often did, he took a moment to admire the blue-grey pottery mugs, and to thank whatever deity might exist for the way things had turned out. He carried the coffee back out to the living room, handed Mike his, and walked to the picture window to gaze out at the lake, still and serene beneath a swirl of morning mist. He could just make out their closest neighbor’s dock, halfway around the shoreline.

Mid-March was still too chilly in the foothills of the Catskills to have coffee out on the porch. That would have to wait for another month or two. It might be sooner that he braved the bracing morning chill for a run on the path around the lake. It would require waking even earlier to catch the train for the ninety-minute trip into the city, which meant sacrificing more of his precious time with Mike. Maybe he could convince him to join him for the run.

“You’re going in today?” Mike asked, joining him at the window.

“Just half a day. I promise.”

When they’d first moved here, Harvey had been forced to spend too many nights in Manhattan as he struggled to catch up after three months away from the firm. He’d gradually off-loaded some of his cases to Alex and Katrina, and permanently handed over the managing partner duties to Louis. It had been an adjustment, difficult at times, but he didn’t regret any of it. The trade-off was this, these quiet mornings with Mike, and nights mapping one another’s bodies, and discovering new ways to make each other come apart.

Harvey slipped an arm around Mike’s waist, pulling him against his side. “You made the reservations?”

“Yep. City Clerk’s office at two. Champagne in my office at three. Dinner at five. Back here for the wedding night as soon as we choke down our chicken-fried meat at the diner.”

_The wedding night._ A sweet thrill went through Harvey at the thought of calling Mike his husband. “Sounds perfect. What do you have going on this morning? How’s the disgruntled waitstaff situation at Kellerman’s progressing?”

“More and more gruntled by the day.” Mike’s mouth gave an ironic twist. “They’ll probably end up voting the union in, which means my services will no longer be required. It’s all good, though. Frees up my time to organize the paperclips in my office. I’ve been thinking about looking for some ambulances to chase.”

“That bad?”

Mike smiled. “Nah. It’s great, actually. I’m drafting a couple of wills. Zelda – ”

“Who?”

“The waitress at the diner. With the pink hair? Her son has a discrimination case against his former employer she wants me to take. She thinks he was fired because the asshole found out he was gay. By the way, she’s agreed to be our witness. And, let’s see … if I have time left over after I meet with her, I’ll probably go for a quick bike ride.”

“Packed schedule, huh?”

“It’s early days yet. I’m having a little trouble breaking into the village’s tightknit legal community, but I’m getting there. _Cosgrove & Cosgrove _are about eighty and eighty-five years old respectively. If I have to, I’ll just wait them out.”

“No younger Cosgroves waiting in the wings to take over the practice?”

“Evidently, not.”

“You know you always have a place at the firm if you want it.”

“I know. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m happy here.”

Against all odds, Harvey was too, and not just because he and Mike were finally together. Until a few months ago, he’d never imagined he’d end up living so far from a major city. After they’d considered all the options, this compromise had seemed the fairest. While they stayed on Orcas Island for another month, they contacted a realtor in New York, and she’d e-mailed them dozens of listings in their target area.

They’d both fallen in love with the house, a huge log-cabin style lodge, with natural wood stained a warm honey color, exposed beams, and a wide porch that wrapped halfway around the outside. Although many of the details were rustic, the house was wholly modern and did not skimp on luxury. It included a state-of-the-art kitchen, enormous master bedroom with a view of the lake, and a master bath with a spa tub built for two and a shower that could have accommodated an entire baseball team. Three other bedrooms were available if they ever decided to have overnight guests.

The village of Hemsville was a fifteen-minute drive from the lake. It was larger than any of the towns on Orcas, but every bit as creepily friendly. As far as Harvey could tell, Mike was fitting right in.

They’d moved in the week before Thanksgiving and been snowed in the week after. The snow didn't stick around for long, and having learned their lesson, they invested in a four-wheel drive SUV, stocked up on canned goods, and made sure they always had fuel for the generator on hand, fresh batteries for their flashlights, and plenty of candles. Harvey had rolled his eyes when he caught Mike scouring a prepper website, but he had to admit they were now ready for almost anything. If society collapsed, they were all set for at least a month or two.

To begin with, Harvey hadn’t been thrilled about the commute. After he’d resigned himself to the daily time suck, he’d discovered that on the morning trip, without all the distractions of the office, he could bang out twice as much work in the same length of time. At night, he usually let his thoughts wander, absently absorbing the passing scenery while he decompressed and transitioned back into country mode.

At times he daydreamed about cashing out at the firm and going into practice with Mike. That was something for the future, and would have to wait until Mike built up his client list (and maybe until the demise of the Cosgroves). Eventually, Harvey would have to sell the condo in Manhattan. He’d never admitted to Mike how much the idea pained him, but he suspected that Mike knew. He’d never pressed Harvey on the issue.

As they stood together at the window, enjoying both the view and one another’s closeness, neither speaking, Harvey thought about the most recent shooting, and the bill that would be signed later today. With all that, and the civil ceremony, which would probably remind him of his first wedding, it would be an emotional day for Mike. In his mind, Harvey reviewed the work waiting for him at the office and decided it could all wait. “If you want,” he said, “I can stay home today.”

Understanding Harvey’s motives, Mike shook his head. “I’m fine. Dr. Gable cut our sessions to once a week. A car backfired outside my office yesterday, and I didn’t even fling myself under the desk.” He smiled wryly. “As they say, it’s all good.”

_Was it?_ “I’ll believe that the day you agree to come into the city with me.”

“I will. Soon. I still owe Laura lunch.” His expression clouded over. “Do she and Robert know about us?”

“I haven’t talked to either one since I’ve been back. I heard that Robert bought a vineyard in the Finger Lakes Region, and he’s been spending a lot of time there. Without Laura.”

Mike’s face tightened briefly. He laid his head on Harvey’s shoulder. “It’s not just the bullets,” he murmured.

Harvey knew what he meant. They’d had this conversation a few times. The effects of violence rippled out from the original act, upending lives in every way imaginable and unimaginable.

They stood like that, peaceful and connected, until a sliver of sun peeked over the edge of the lake.

“You’re going to miss you train,” said Mike.

Harvey came to an abrupt decision. “I’m not going.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“It’s my wedding day, and I don’t fucking have to go to fucking work if I don’t fucking want to.”

“Wow, if I’d known you’d turn out to be a Bridezilla …"

“That’s Groomzilla, to you.”

Mike lifted his head and regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Well, hey, Groomzilla, I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple hours. What do you want to do?”

Harvey took both of their mugs and set them carefully on the coffee table before wrapping Mike in his arms.

“I’m thinking … the traditional pre-wedding sex marathon?”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It should be.”

Mike smiled, slow and dirty. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last six months?”

 

******

 

They’d get to the slow, staid, married sex later, Harvey figured. Now, he dragged Mike upstairs to the bedroom at a half-run and threw him on the bed so hard that he bounced. Ordering him to stay still, he yanked off his tie, and shirt, and the rest of his Manhattan armor. He peeled off Mike’s pajama pants and t-shirt and set upon him as if they hadn’t just fucked liked rabbits until one in the morning.

Every time they touched, it was the same: sweet, and urgent, and as volatile as a hydrogen bomb. Buried deep inside Mike (no condom required), Harvey snapped his hips, staring into Mike’s eyes, watching the subtle shifts in color, from pale blue, to blue green, to the same blue grey as the mugs in the living room.

“There?” he breathed, changing his angle.

“Yeah. Keep doing that.”

He kept doing that until Mike was arching, taut as a drawn bow, and cursing like a fallen angel. Harvey showed no mercy, pounding away, pinning Mike’s wrists to the mattress. Muscled legs circled his back as Mike lifted strongly to meet his thrusts. He clenched his ass around Harvey, creating delicious pressure that had Harvey perilously close to the edge.

“Mike,” he gasped, pressing his face to his shoulder, pausing his movements while he tried to regroup. “Don’t. You’ll make me come too soon.”

“Then come,” said Mike, clenching again. With a blissful smile, he wrapped a hand around his own cock and jacked himself. “I’ll race you.”

And they were off again, testing the springs and the frame of the new bed, knocking more gouges into the recently painted wall. Harvey didn’t care about any of that, and neither, it seemed, did Mike. They rocked and thrust, damp with sweat, yelling, cursing, urging each other on.

The wave broke over Harvey first, golden, all-consuming, electric, sweeping him away. Mike cried out sharply. They shook together, heated flesh pressed close, the slick, hot glide of cum painting their joining.

Harvey panted, holding tight to Mike, determined to stay buried inside him for as long as he could. He didn’t want to let him go, not ever, wanted to keep him here with him.

A rush of air filled his lungs as it hit him all at once that he'd never have to worry about losing Mike again. Mike was his. This was real, what they had, and it was forever.

 

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the tale. As always, thanks for your comments and kudos, and just for reading the darn thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart of 'Nothing Like We Used to Be' by jonius_belonius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624946) by [sylviamorris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylviamorris/pseuds/sylviamorris)




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